Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an64379@anon.penet.fi (Peter the Grate)
Date: Wed, 23 Nov 1994 20:08:46 UTC
Subject: A Walk in the Park (emb voy exh nc)



Story       : A Walk in the Park
Author      : Peter the Grate
Released    : 22 Nov, 1994
Description : A young lady encounters fierce weather and gang members in
	    : a rather embarrassing, compromising day at community college
	    : and the evening walk home.
Themes      : embarrassment, voyeurism, humiliation, panty-fetish, mild
	    : violence (no hitting or rape (but close)), non-consensual
	    : exhibitionism (the best kind :^).

			   A WALK IN THE PARK

	There are times that man causes great pain or embarrassment to
his fellow man. But then, there are also those special times when
one's greatest perils are not the result of another's malicious acts,
but of mere chance or coincidence.

	This is the recounting of just such an event, or, more
accurately, a whole day that went wrong for one shy, unfortunate
young lady name Cathy, who, as we shall see was the victim of a most
ill-timed series of natural catastrophes.

	It was dark as Cathy walked home through the park from her
night classes at the local college. Strolling along, she was
wondering how hard the teachers would make their semester finals,
hoping that she could get enough studying done in the next couple of
weeks to do well.

	It was the beginning of September and the weather was
beautiful. The warm, dry Santa Ana winds that often struck the
Southern California area on summer and autumn nights mystically
enlivened the otherwise clear evening.

	Cathy looked sensational. She was wearing a knee-length red
skirt, which, though not really shorter than what many of the girls
wore, was unusual for her.

	It was the simple type that a lot of the girls wore. Made
basically of one piece of fabric, it wrapped around her torso with a
hook at the waist. Cathy was the type to usually wear slacks or
shorts, more because of shyness than anything else. But today's
gorgeous, sunny weather had driven her to match beauty with beauty, so
she chose to wear a dress.

	Earlier at home when she woke up, she hadn't thought any
danger in picking out some skimpy underthings to celebrate the
beautiful day. She started with a pair of bright pink panties. They
were skin-tight on her firm rear-end and tissue-thin. Cut low in both
the front and back, they tapered to dainty, lacy ribbons at her hips.

	Victoria's Secret. She smiled. They were her secret now.
She thought about what she read on the net, in alt.sex.bondage. The
other girls (they hated being called 'girls'; The politically correct
crowd informed them it was demeaning, so they trumpeted their
chastisements to a blissfully indifferent congregation) told her how
they despised Victoria's Secret. No quality (in panties and bras
anyway, she still hadn't opted for garter belts or stockings), they
said. Well, they were good enough for her, and convenient, too.

	She had rarely worn sexy underwear while in a dress, but the
wonderful day so exhilarated her that she decided to go all out. She
had thrown on a matching pink bra that surpassed her panties in
flaunting what it contained. It was made of see-through pink lace and
was so delicate that it looked as though it could barely contain her
breasts without bursting open.

	As she stood before the full-length mirror, checking herself
in her blouse before putting her skirt on, she noted that the fine
lace design sewn into her bra cups could just barely be seen through
her blouse. She decided she would permit people to see a little
feminine lace. It was fashionable these, no matter how conservative a
girl was.

	"Oh damn," she griped, suddenly recalling that her car was in
for its 15,000 mile inspection. Glancing over at the clock on her
nightstand, Cathy saw that if she didn't hurry, she'd be late for
class. With her car in for repairs she needed to walk to school, and
that was going to add an extra forty-five minutes each way.

	So much for her morning coffee and newspaper. She knew she'd
forget to turn off the coffee maker before she left - she'd done it
before, and come home to a ghastly smelling house and destroyed coffee
pot - so she began buttoning her blouse on her way to the kitchen to
do it before putting her dress on. She clicked the switch on the
machine, squinting from the morning sun shining in through the kitchen
window. Walking back to her bedroom, her sleep-fogged mind was on too
many things, and when her cat meowed at the front door she opened it
for her without a second thought.

	"Hi gypsy," she said. The animal lovingly brushed by her bare
leg as it darted in the door, and Cathy saw her newspaper out front.
She hopped outside into the morning sunshine and was halfway down to
the sidewalk before she noticed some neighbors from down the street.

	Three couples, out for their morning walk approached her
driveway as they strolled along the sidewalk. Cathy's short blouse
didn't even begin to cover her silky panties and she was a most
captivating sight, walking toward them only half-dressed. She barely
noticed them looking at her as they approached.

	"Oh," one of the ladies stammered with surprise, "I, uh, think
you forgot something". They were all staring at her, especially the
three men. All three husbands snickered, trying to appear polite
despite the scene before them.

	Looking down and seeing her bare legs, Cathy gasped in horror.
She was caught with nowhere to hide!

	"Oh my God," Cathy gasped, turning red. Already three
quarters of the way down the driveway, she knew she'd look ridiculous
if she were to run back to the house. So she pulled her blouse down
to try to cover her front, and hurried down to the sidewalk to snatch
the paper.

	"Having one of those mornings, huh?" chuckled one of the men.
"It's okay, I've done it myself once or twice," he said, assessing her
shapely legs.

	Cathy tried to not look awkward as she neared them. She hoped
they wouldn't make too much of her obvious liability. Stooping to
retrieve the paper, her blouse pulled up in back and betrayed her
panties in their erotic entirety.

	"But ah," he observed slyly, eagerly enjoying the close-up of
her dainty, bright pink underwear, "you certainly do have a more
memorable way of doing it."

	"Um, excuse me," Cathy answered, terribly humiliated. Not
looking at any of them, with the paper in hand, she trotted back to
the front door, trying not to look as awkwardly embarrassed as she
was, and therefore incapable of preventing the view they had from
behind of her squirming, panty-clad tush.

	Thoroughly disgusted with herself, she threw the paper on her
kitchen table, and ran into her bedroom to finish dressing. She
quickly wrapped her dress around her, snapping the catch at the waist
and adjusting the sides to overlap one another.

	Without time to properly check her appearance, Cathy failed to
notice that when pulled even moderately tight against her chest, the
new blouse that she had just bought became totally sheer, efficiently
displaying whatever was behind it.

	And so, predictably, when she tucked her blouse into her
skirt, the hint of lace that she'd allowed herself a few seconds
before quite embarrassingly transformed with her titillating lingerie
materializing from behind in perfect detail.

	The see-through fabric of the bra didn't do anything to keep
her dark-skinned nipples from showing through as conspicuous, brown
blots. Against the sheer white blouse, the half-dollar sized, dark,
round spots were impossible to miss, but she was in too much of a
hurry to check herself in the mirror before leaving.

	Stepping into a pair of high-heeled shoes, she grabbed her
purse and notebook and was out the door without a look back.

	She hadn't noticed the subtle glances of the guys that she
passed, as they didn't want to alert her to the fact that they were
staring straight at her nipples.

	When she awoke that morning, the day was calm. Unfortunately,
though, a brisk wind had picked up quite quickly that would certainly
have caused her to have chosen against wearing a weightless, cotton
skirt, not to mention the sexy underwear. She had become concerned as
she noticed it, but realized that there really wasn't much she could
do about it, now that she was at school.

	The wind, predictably, was having quite a lot of fun with the
skirts of many girls, and Cathy became one more victim. The way that
her skirt was designed, a one-piece wrap-around, any moderate gust of
wind blew it open rather embarrassingly. She had bought it when she
was younger, and though it fit her, the sides overlapped each other by
an inch or two less than she was comfortable with these days.

	It was a great inconvenience for Cathy to have to hold her
skirt together whenever the wind blew, and at the same time try to
balance an armload of books and a purse. On top of that, it was
getting really embarrassing to see the guys' eyes on her whenever a
breeze started up. She knew just what they were looking at.

	Once or twice the forceful winds had been strong enough to
cause great distress. The first time, and the worst, because all of
the people who witnessed it, occurred when she was sitting outside
next to her biology classroom waiting for her first class to begin
with the others, early that morning.

	There were about twenty people there, most of them sitting on
the benches, talking amongst themselves. While she was sorting
through her papers next to her, a healthy breeze surged through the
little courtyard in front of the rooms. It created havoc with the dry
leaves that were scattered on the bricks.

	When it struck the bench that she was sitting on, the breeze
flitted through her papers. In an attempt to save the work that she'd
spent hours on, she leapt to her feet and bent over the papers to keep
them from blowing away. Two escaped her and blew down the sidewalk in
front of the classrooms, so she knelt down and spread her arms as best
she could over the remaining seven arrayed out before her.

	But as she did so, the breeze intensified. The bench had a
straight cement front, which served to quite efficiently deflect the
powerful gust upwards where it puffed up her defenseless skirt and
blew it inside out up over her back.

	In a shocking instant, all of her up to her waist was suddenly
quite completely revealed to all of her friends and the other
students. On the benches facing her, the eight or ten guys that
happened to be praying for a miracle got a dazzling view of the bright
sunlight shining directly on her skimpy pink panties.

	Cathy gasped in shock, her hair in her eyes, and tried her
best, with one hand, to push her disloyal dress back down, while
trying to control her papers with the other.

	In the breeze, her shirt fluttered like a flag as she
frantically stuffed it between her legs. The guys and girls who were
watching her performance giggled in delight, and she turned a lovely
shade of red, battling to conceal her risque underwear.

	Later that morning, she had been at the snack shack to get
something to drink when she was again victimized by mother nature.
The snack shack was in the center of the campus, and was therefore
usually quite crowded, with a multitude of students milling around,
both inside and out.

	She stood next to the door, unwrapping a candy bar, facing the
trash can, when another of the strong winds blew through the area. An
eddy formed right where she was standing and ballooned her skirt up
for almost three full seconds.

	Several girls giggled and some guys pointed when they saw the
dainty, tight, pink panties that erotically creased her rear end, but
her skirt dropped back down before she noticed that it happened.

	But, as the breezes hadn't proven strong enough to raise her
skirt up too high, except for the one time that she knew of, she
dismissed them without great concern. That turned out to be a
mistake, when she had indeed become dreadfully humiliated after lunch
as she was going to class, when the winds did prove quite troublesome
indeed.

	She had been heading up the outdoor stairwell of the three-
story school building, talking with a couple of guys from her English
class.

	"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I don't see how his test can
really be all that hard. I've been studying every night. I feel
pretty good about it."

	Suddenly and silently, a powerful gust shot up into the
enclosed cement stairway. Burdened with her purse and her books,
Cathy was not prepared to effectively respond to what happened.

	Channeled and strengthened, the wind inflated her thin skirt
and it erupted like a parachute.

	When it could expand no more, it split open all the way to
where it hooked together at her waist and laid thoroughly bare what it
had been shrouding only seconds before.

	As it was lunchtime, there was a healthy crowd of students on
campus, and a good twenty people, most of them guys, got a complete
and sensational view of her pink nylon panties, while she struggled to
control her fluttering skirt.

	"Shit!" she screamed. She tried to push it down without
dropping her books, but wasn't very successful. Several guys walking
up the stairs behind her were treated to a full view of her from
behind, while her skirt, blown up and flapping inside- out against her
back, totally revealed her provocative underwear to their greedy eyes.

	The guys that were walking with her were too shocked and
embarrassed for her to do anything except gawk at her underwear and
watch her try and cover herself. She scampered up the stairway in
order to get away and ran into her classroom, leaving behind a
congregation of laughing, lust-filled classmates.

	But now, her four o'clock Friday class finished, she was ready
for a weekend of relaxing at the beach. It would help her relax and
she could bring her books to study for her final exams.

	Suddenly, as she considered what was on her schedule for later
on that night, three low-life looking males jumped out in front of her
from the wooded area by the path. One pointed a small revolver in her
face.

	"Well, look what we have here, boys," he sneered. "What-choo
got for us tonight, little lady?"

	Cathy saw their lustful eyes playing over her body. At
nineteen, they considered her a prize catch, and horrible thoughts of
a violent mugging leapt through her panicking mind. She shuddered to
think of what they could do to her.

	The leader of the punks motioned to her with the small pistol,
saying, "Step on over here with me, beautiful. We're gonna have a
little party, and we all want you to join us."

	He looked over at the parking lot next to them at his car, his
eyes alighting with an idea. "C'mon over here." He grabbed Cathy
roughly, spilling her books out of her arms, dragging her over to the
rusting hulk. Too afraid to scream, Cathy followed without
struggling. She hoped to escape unharmed by not angering them. She
hoped that they intended only to rob her. That, she could deal with,
at least.

	Pointing to the battered, green Pontiac, he ordered her, "Get
up on the roof." He pushed her at it. "You're gonna give us a little
strip show, baby. Take your clothes off for us, and do it nice and
sexy and slow, so I don't get too excited and pull this trigger."

	Cathy faltered, panic stricken. "Take my clothes off?," she
thought to herself, "God, I can't do that!" She looked around her at
the greasy, lustful eyes that were anticipating her performing a
striptease. "Please," she pleaded, "I can't! Please, just let me go!"

	"Go on, Goddamnit! Move!", he screamed, pushing her again at
the hood of the car. Cathy, fearful of the three, clambered up on the
hood, and then up to the roof. Her location, standing up there,
quivering, made her skirt even more susceptible to the winds, which
proceeded to whip her dress constantly. She was doing her best to
keep it pushed down, but her barely adequate struggles and occasional
failures were only making the thugs more and more horny.

	"Please don't hurt me. Please, I won't say anything, just let
me go home!", she begged. A draft blew up through her legs and her
skirt very nearly evaded her frantic hands. Perched on the car roof,
begging for her release, she had to fight to keep the impetuous wind
from exposing her racy underwear.

	"Actually I work for the Salvation Army," he grinned
lecherously. "I collect for 'em. They told me they're really runnin'
short on clothes this month, so I said I'd help 'em out.

	"You look like a real willing volunteer. Why doncha donate
your shirt to the needy, huh? Maybe we'll call it even after that." He
stepped forward menacingly, doing his best to intimidate Cathy with
the revolver.

	"No," she protested, "Are you kidding? Who do you think you
are?" Maybe if she fought back they would scare off easily. They were
just punks anyway. "You can't make me undress in public. This is
kidnapping. I'm not taking my clothes off for you or anyone else!"

	"Damn it, I said take it off!" he screamed at her, pointing
the gun at her face. Cathy cringed in fear of him. His pointing the
gun at her convinced her to reexamine the intelligence of her attempt
at boldness.

	"Wait, okay, don't!" she said quickly, her fingers darting to
her blouse. "I'm... unbuttoning it." Hoping to escape with minimal
humiliation, she began the dreaded process of disrobing in front of
them.

	One by one, she released the four little pearl buttons, and a
few seconds later, only her fingers, clutched at her chest, were
holding it closed against the persistent winds.

	"God," she moaned to herself. "they're really going to make
me do it." She couldn't believe what was happening. "I can't take my
-clothes- off." She felt so exposed before them. It felt so
indescribably revealing to stand in front of a bunch of leering guys
with her shirt unbuttoned.

	"Please don't...," she begged.

	"Take the shirt off, baby," the punk interrupted. "Take it
off before I get pissed!"

	"Can't I do something else?" she begged. As she spoke, she
slowly tugged her blouse free at her waist with one hand, while
holding it together in front with the other.

	"Goddamn it," he seethed, moving forward toward her.

	"Wait," she whined, "okay..."

	She hesitated for a few seconds, but then carefully slipped
her blouse off, avoiding eye contact with the leering thugs, while
revealing her silky, pink, see-through bra. She stood on the roof now
with her arms crossed in front of her bra, her blouse hanging limply
from the fingers of one hand.

	"Gimme that!" sneered the punk, snatching it from her fingers.

	"No!" she cried helplessly, "my blouse!" But she was too late
in reaching after it.

	Cathy moaned softly, watching him toss it through the open
window on to the back seat of the car. She wrapped one arm tightly
around her chest to cover her bra, making her best effort to keep her
skirt together with her free hand.

	"Damn, yeah, that's a -lot- better," he jeered, staring
greedily at her. "Now I'm sure some kid in Africa would just fuckin'
die to have a dress like that," he giggled lasciviously.

	"What? No!," she wailed, "Not that! Please don't take my
skirt!" she pleaded, thinking about the panties she had on underneath.
Unconsciously she drove her hand more forcefully into her groin.

	"You already have my blouse, can't that just be enough? Do you
want money? I'll give you everything I have - I can get more! Please
don't make me take my dress off. I have to get home. I can't go home
like this. Please! You said if I took my blouse off you would let me
go. And I did, and you have it, and I.. I just..."

	Cathy helplessly bared her bra to him, holding her arms out,
as if to entice his sense of compassion and decency. She felt, as
much as saw all of their eyes playing across the thin pink nylon that
she was exhibiting. Her pinkish-brown nipples drew their hungry
stares, more visible through the sheer nylon than Cathy would ever
have allowed, had she only paid more attention to her attire that
morning.

	"Well, now, shit...," teased the leader, "tell you what. Ya
know, you're right, I did say that." Cathy visibly relaxed, her
shoulders drooping slightly with relief.

	"But...," he countered. Cathy tensed, looking up again, eyes
darting nervously to his. "You just kinda got my curiosity goin' now.
I can see your tits through your bra when you show it to me like that,
and now I'm wonderin' if everything you're wearin' is a nice lookin'
as that."

	A look of dread swept Cathy's features, as she processed his
statement. Instinctively, her hands drew back up to again cover her
bra, as she understood how clearly he could see through her bra.

	"Why doncha show us," he commanded. "Just pull your dress up
so we can satisfy our curiosity."

	"No, I...," Cathy faltered, slowly shaking her head.

	"C'mon, pull it up and show us all your pretty, little undies
and we'll call it a night, huh?" He smiled, toying with his prey.
Seeing her hesitate, he added, "You -do- want us to let you go,
right?"

	"Ye.. yeah," she stammered. Her hands slowly lowered to the
gathers of her skirt, as though she subconsciously knew what she had
to do, even if she couldn't accept it emotionally. She held out,
though, for a miracle, a reprieve. "But please don't make me do
this," she implored. I can't show you my p.. panties. It's too..."

	"Pull it up," he demanded. "We all wanna see what you're hidin'
under there. I think they're pink..."

	"You'll let me go?" Cathy begged. Her fingers worked at the
sides of the thin cotton garment, slowly sliding it upwards to reveal
her slender, nubile legs. She raised her skirt up to her white upper
thighs, hoping, with the hem just below her private parts, for an
answer.

	Her eyes beseeched his for mercy. He just stared at her.

	"Raise it up high," he said coldly. "I want to see it all."
He licked his lips in anticipation, relishing the control that he was
exercising over his defenseless quarry.

	Cathy stifled a sob, her chest heaving only slightly as she
caught it before it escaped. Averting her tearing eyes, more out of
shame than modesty, she did what was commanded of her. She raised her
skirt up, revealing the center of her silky panties for them all to
enjoy.

	Their stares pored hungrily over the satiny nylon that she was
compelled to expose to them, their eyes probing even higher and to the
sides, in an effort to strip her of all possible privacy and dignity.

	"Higher," ordered the leader. "All the way up. And turn
around, while you do it. We want to see the back, too." One of the
others snickered, enjoying the show Cathy was providing.

	She complied, reluctantly, but nonetheless completely. Her
hopes of humility dashed, she held the sides of her skirt out to the
sides and then raised it nearly to her shoulders, fully exposing her
risque panties to their scrutiny. As the cool evening breeze fluttered
her upraised tresses, Cathy performed a slow, nervous pirouette,
granting them a generously erotic view of her pantied rear-end.

	She completed her turn, once again facing front. Afraid of
incurring his wrath by lowering her dress, she was careful to hold the
hem up high, yielding him a full frontal view of her delectable
lingerie when she addressed him.

	"Okay? Is that enough?" she implored, "I did what you said. I
showed you my underwear. I showed it all. Please,... can I have my
blouse back now?"

	She slowly lowered her skirt and let it drop to again shroud
her privacy. The leader said nothing, as her hands crept slowly back
up to hide her exposed bra.

	"Well," he said. "Now that's what I call one fine piece of
ass." Looking around him, he prompted the others for encouragement,
"Huh guys? Whaddaya think?"

	"Shit yeah!" spewed one. "Fuckin' do her, man!"

	At this, Cathy started to become alarmed again. What she had
thought concluded, now appeared to be taking an even more ominous turn
of course.

	"Now that wouldn't be real nice, would it?" he asked the
others. "Puttin' her through all that and then not holdin' up to my
promise and all?"

	Cathy looked at him, unsure of what he meant.

	He reached into the back of the faded brown Pontiac and
retrieved her blouse. He looked at it for a few seconds, seemingly
pondering his own good nature.

	"Here," he tossed it to her, "a deal's a deal. I won't take
your clothes."

	Cathy gratefully accepted her blouse back, at first bunching
it protectively in front of her bra, and then quickly slipping it on.
As she began to button it, though, he interrupted.

	"Now wait a sec, before you get too dolled up, there,
sweetheart," he said. Cathy stopped, fearful, having only fastened
the two top buttons. She had hoped with all her being that this whole
experience had been coming to a relatively peaceful end. She looked
down at him from the car roof.

	"I said I wouldn't -take- your clothes," he furthered, "that
doesn't mean I'm done with this yet."

	"What.. what do you mean?" Cathy ventured. "Can't I go now?
Please, let me go home, I have to get home soon."

	Turning to her again, he said, "Ya know, after seeing just how
fuckin' great you look in your underwear, it just shows me how much I
really don't like the looks of that whole outfit you're wearin'."

	"It... what?" Cathy questioned.

	"Yeah, I didn't realize it before, ya know? I guess I just
don't like the way it all.. struck me. It must be the pattern,.. or
the material, or, oh fuck, I dunno," He laughed, glancing at the
others for their subordinate reaction and approval. The others
giggled in delight, seeing her squirm.

	"Yeah, but I said I wasn't gonna take your clothes, and,
well...," he paused pensively, "I like to consider myself an honest
and decent guy."

	Cathy looked on questioningly, uncertain of what direction he
was moving in.

	"So, I guess we have a little problem, huh?" he asked.

	Hesitating a few seconds, Cathy meekly responded, "I don't
think so."

	"Yeah we do," he came back. "We have to figure out what to
do, see? We have to figure out what to do about me not liking that
outfit."

	"Oh," she answered, almost inaudibly.

	"Well, l think I know the best way to deal with this," he
announced. The other gang members listened, watching the conversation
and mental game being played out before them, comprehending little
other than the cruelty and animal lust that they were experiencing and
enjoying.

	"I'll let you do the honors," and he reached into his pocket,
pulling out a small colored object.

	Cathy looked. It was... a cigarette lighter. A lighter?
What could he want her to do with...

	He tossed it up to the roof of the battered car, landing it at
Cathy's feet. She looked down uncertainly at it, not wanting to
confirm what her fears were concluding.

	"Cremation's the only way to go," he said. "I just don't
think a pretty girl like you should be walkin' around wearin'
somethin' like that."

	"No, please," Cathy pleaded, "I can't do that, I can't." She
implored him with her kindest, most sincere effort.

	"Do it now," he warned, "or I'll do it for you. And I don't
think you want that. Besides, I think it's only right that you have
to honor of burning your own clothes. I think it's more meaningful."

	She hesitated.

	"I'm waiting," he prodded. "Get it done."

	Cathy moaned, kneeling. She picked up the lighter, examining
it momentarily before continuing. The others looked on in delight,
anticipating her burning her clothes for them.

	"I... I can't burn my own...," she started.

	"Do it!" he said again, raising his voice. He stepped forward
to the car, prompting Cathy into action.

	"Okay, I will," she hurriedly replied, "please don't hurt
me." She reached up and quickly popped the two buttons free. In three
quick seconds she was again reduced to only her bra. She clutched her
blouse in her hands, looking woefully at the lighter.

	"Burn it, baby, I don't like it," he ordered.

	"God," Cathy muttered to herself. She flicked the lighter,
producing only an impotent spark. She nervously fumbled with it twice
more before getting a flame. Then, with her hands trembling, she
touched it to the nylon fabric.

	The blouse burst into flame most agreeably. She jumped back
to avoid being burned, clasping her hands to her chest. She stood up
again as it quickly reduced to ashes and wisps of tattered trash.

	They all watched until the fire was no more, waiting almost
dramatically for a few seconds after.

	"Well, that was fine," said the leader, obviously pleased with
how things were turning out.

	Cathy, shielding her bra, softly asked, "May I please go now?"
She looked from one to the other, her gaze returning again to the
leader.

	"Go?" he laughed calmly, gently, one might think almost
sociopathically. "We're not done yet, how can you go?"

	She said nothing. Not done yet? What more was there to do?
He had just forced to burn her blouse in front of them. Why, he had
left her with only her... dress.

	"You don't.... you don't mean...," and she saw him leer
sinfully, "oh, no... no, please." She grabbed her dress frantically
with one hand to hold it tightly against her.

	"Yeah, I'm actually developing a real dislike for it, just the
same as for, uh, that" and he pointed to the little pile of blowing
ashes and scrap material by her feet. "And I think I'm just gonna do
what I shoulda done when I first saw it."

	"No! Not my dress, I can't! Please, you've already seen
everything I have on, don't take my skirt!!" She seemed almost
frantic, on the verge of panicking.

	"No, no, no," he teased, "same rules apply. It'll have to be
burned." He gestured toward her skirt casually, as though her were
directing a film scene. "Let's go."

	Angrily, one of the other two stepped up to her. "Bitch, he
said take your dress off! Are you fuckin' deaf?", he yelled. He
grabbed the bottom edge and started tugging at it. "You want some
help?"

	Cathy shrieked, baring her bra so she could try and hold her
skirt together. "Wait! Stop! Don't!" she wailed. But he yanked
harder, nearly pulling her off the roof of the car. The two metal
safety snaps, designed to hold the skirt together if the hook failed,
were the first to give, immediately popping apart.

	"No! Stop! Please!!" she screamed. She struggled to both keep
from sliding off the roof and to save the tiny hook that was now all
that still was holding her skirt on. But she couldn't do both. She
had to forsake her skirt in an effort to keep from falling off the car
and breaking her neck. The little twist of wire was not meant to take
such stress and, after a few seconds, tore free of the fabric.

	In a flash, her thin skirt whipped off, leaving her stranded
on the car roof wearing nothing but a transparent bra and tissue- thin
panties.

	Aiee!!" she screamed, suddenly feeling the cool air on her
nearly nude body, and she threw her arms in front of her to try and
conceal her skimpy underwear.

	"Ooh, how sexy," taunted the third punk. He grinned, seeing
that he was getting to her. "Don't you feel embarrassed, standing up
on a car roof in see-through underwear in front of a bunch of guys?",
he teased. He was clearly enjoying seeing Cathy so embarrassed. "You
look like a stripper or something."

	"Please, give me my dress!" she pleaded, covering her body
poorly with her small hands. She felt dreadfully exposed, and crossed
one leg in front of the other in a vain attempt to minimize the view
they had of her bared physique.

	"Now, you see," the leader admonished her, "the guys here
don't appreciate it when you don't do what I say. If I tell you to do
somethin', do it."

	"I'm sorry," Cathy wailed, struggling "please, I'm sorry. I
-need- my dress. Please, don't do this."

	"Look," he responded, "all I can do is take a vote on it,
okay? However the vote turns out, that's what we'll do."

	Turning to his companions, he asked, "Guys, what'll it be?"

	"I don't like her dress," one said, "I say burn it!"

	"Okay," the leader said, "and you?" he asked, turning to the
other.

	"I don't like it either," he said, "I think she looks a lot
better the way she is now." He gazed lustfully at Cathy in her
revealing attire.

	"Darn," continued the leader. "Well, there you have it. Oh,
how do you vote? I guess it's only fair to ask."

	"Please," she whimpered.

	"Do you want to burn it?" he asked again.

	"No," she softly uttered, shaking her head slowly,
powerlessly.

	"Well, I have to tell ya," he taunted, "it mighta been close,
but I have to be honest. I don't like your dress either. And that
makes the vote three to one."

	Cathy just stood there, unable to do anything, unable to think
of a response. How could this be happening, this, the worst nightmare
of her life come true?

	He looked at the thug next to him, beckoning with a the flip
of the head to give Cathy her skirt. He grinned, tossing it at her.
Cathy caught it, draping it gratefully, if only momentarily, in front
of her.

	Then the leader reached down and picked up the lighter. It
had fallen to the ground during Cathy's failed struggle to hold onto
her skirt.

	Effecting his most cooperative smile, he politely reached up
and handed the device to Cathy. She knew she had no choice but to
submit, and nervously bent down, accepting it from him with the
reluctance of a child preparing for a spanking that he knew to be
inevitable. She could think of no recourse, no option to preserve her
clothing and her dignity.

	"Please," she begged once more, unable to continue without one
last entreaty.

	"Burn your dress," he ordered. "It'll teach you not to walk
around in public dressed like that anymore. This is your punishment
for wearin' stuff I don't like."

	"No," she moaned, inwardly. But she continued, defeated,
overpowered.

	In a way, she felt detached from her body. She watched her
hands move, but couldn't really be sure that she was consciously
directing the muscles. Time seemed to move slowly, as if she were
looking through an ether.

	She flicked the igniter. It popped into flame immediately.
Two tears descended her cheeks, as she held the flame to the cotton
dress. A moment later a flame was growing at the bottom edge of the
material, licking hungrily and destructively up one side.

	Cathy held her skirt for another ten seconds, almost burning
her tender forearm, before dropping it to the ground in front of the
gang. The leader crushed the fabric with his foot, moving it into a
more compact pile, and ensuring that that fire had taken control of
the skirt's destiny.

	They all watched, Cathy truly forlorn, as her skirt was
reduced to a smoldering pile of ash. It only took a minute or so; the
dress was very thin, and there wasn't much to burn, and, too, it was
all cotton.

	After a short pause, the leader announced, "There. Now let
that be a lesson, okay?"

	Cathy just looked at him.

	"Don't be wearin' stuff like that around in public." He
smiled, relishing his power over her. What to do now, what to do...

	"C'mere," he said, motioning her down off the roof. "Let's
talk."

	"Please," Cathy cried. "Don't hurt me! This is bad enough.
Can't you just let me go?" She begged for her release, arms draped in
front of her shimmering pink bra and panties.

	"Get down, bitch," he ordered, pointing to his feet, motioning
for Cathy to get off the car. His violent nature was showing through
the thin veneer that he had been using to keep Cathy from panicking.

	"Please," she pleaded, slowly sliding off the car to the dirt.
"Don't hurt me." Realizing her predicament now, she looked deeply into
his eyes, in an attempt to appeal to his better nature.


	"Walk with me," he ordered. "Oh, and don't forget your
shoes," he added. "Gotta be properly dressed when you're out in
public like this, ya know."

	Cathy, silent and pliable, stepped into the shoes that had
fallen by the side of the car when this adventure all began. And as
the leader slowly walked away from the car, she followed.

	"Up here," he told her, motioning her to his side, "I said
walk with me, not follow me." And Cathy, wearing only brown pumps and
her provocative underwear, quickly ran to accompany him, arms wrapped
around her as best as she could.

	"One more thing," he added, "When you're with me, I can't
stand to see you coverin' yourself up like that, so just knock that
shit off right now and walk normally."

	He looked at Cathy, intimidating her. She haltingly lowered
her hands to her side, revealing her pink satin bra and panties to
him. The other two, following behind them, had been staring at her
ass the whole time, delighted to be in the company of such a pretty
girl so scantily clad. As they passed under a lamp next to a park
bench, the light shone brightly off of her panties.

	"That's better," he said. "Don't let me catch you doin' that
again, or you're gonna be sorry."

	They continued walking, the four of them. Through the park
that Cathy knew well, she strolled nearly naked.

	"God," she thought inwardly, "I feel almost totally nude. I
feel so vulnerable. Where are we going. What does he want. How am I
ever going to get away, or get home. I don't have any clothes on.
GOD!" She started to cry softly. She felt as a captured animal.

	"Look at that ass, man," one of the others mentioned to his
friend. "I just want to fuckin' grab it, ya know?"

	Cathy, fearfully reacting, unconsciously raised her hands up,
covering her bra cups. She didn't know what was in store by listening
to them, but she was getting more and more scared.

	They had proceeded another several hundred yards, when he
stopped. He turned and looked at Cathy.

	"What is this?" he asked, gesturing toward her arms.

	"I..," she started, "I don't.. I couldn't help it. I didn't
realize.."

	"What did I tell you!" he yelled. "Didn't I tell you not to
do that?"

	"Please!, I...," she tried.

	"Enough," he said, flatly.

	"Where are you taking me?" she asked him. She looked straight
ahead, unable to meet his eyes. She could not imagine being more
humiliated.

	"Don't change the subject," he warned her. "You deliberately
did what I told you not to," he said. "You covered covered yourself
up."

	"No, I...," she stammered, "please!"

	"I can see I can't trust you to do what I say, huh?" He
sneered, stopping and staring at her.

	Cathy couldn't seem to control her hands, one minute shielding
herself with them, and the next, dropping them to her sides.

	"Don't hurt me," she gasped.

	"You disobeyed me, didn't you?" he asked.

	"Please, don't..," she started.

	"DIDN'T YOU!" he pushed.

	"Yes," she admitted, "I'm sorry." She started to sob. "I
couldn't help it!"

	"I can see that you need help keeping your hands in place," he
observed.

	Cathy simply looked at the ground.

	"Take your bra off," he commanded her.

	"Oh God, no, come on. Don't make me!", she moaned. But,
seeing the glare in his eyes, Cathy realized that she had no choice.

	She lifted her fingers to her chest and nervously fiddled with
the plastic clasp between the cups. Her bra popped open, her luscious
breasts bouncing candidly free into the night air. Embarrassed, she
quickly, concealed them with one arm, while wriggling out of her bra,
which was left dangling in her hand.

	"Please, don't hurt me," she again pleaded.

	"Give it to me," he ordered, holding his hand out.

	Cathy reached forward, surrendering it reluctantly into his
grasp. She stood now in only her sexy petite panties, arms crossed in
front of her nude breasts.

	"Well, now," he teased, "don't you look nice now." Cathy was
miserable. She looked extremely small and helpless, exposed so
completely in the company of her fully clothed captors.

	"Show us those cute little tits you're hidin'," he said. "You
know how I get when you cover yourself up like that."

	Cathy sighed softly to herself. It was no use crying. She
couldn't run away - not dressed like this. Her only hope was to
comply and try to avoid being hurt, or... worse. Maybe if she
cooperated she could get them to give her something to wear to get
home.

	Slowly, she dropped her arms down, first to her sides, and
then in front of her panties, exposing to all three punks her lovely,
firm, full tits. Her nipples, the size of half dollars, were red and
swollen from the fear and anxiety that was coursing through her body.
She wore a D-cup, and her young, blossoming breasts filled her bras to
their bursting point.

	"Yo, nice jugs, man," one unnecessarily announced to the group.
"Jeez." Indeed, they all stared lustfully at Cathy's plump, pink
breasts. Self-consciously, she drew her hands back up to cover them.
She was beginning to think that they didn't intend to allow her to
leave.

	A filthy, carnal lust glazed the otherwise minimally
intelligent facial expression of the leader.

	"Turn around," he grunted.

	Cathy continued to beg for her release, staring mournfully at
the two subordinate punks, while their leader stood with her bra
behind her.

	Her arms were suddenly jerked back from behind, and she
shrieked in surprise and terror, realizing finally that they intended
to rape her. She struggled against the two that were holding her,
clad in only her panties, her milky tits freely leaping from side to
side. But they quickly had her arms tied securely together behind her
back.

	The leader pulled her to the ground, Cathy moaning with fear
and anguish. She wanted to cry, but was too scared to do anything
except lie there, whimpering. He glared at her, relishing his
position of power. Slowly, he reached his hand to her, caressing her
left breast, and slid it slowly down to her waist.

	"No," she groaned, feeling his fingers on the edge of her
underwear. "Please," she begged, "not my panties". But he didn't
stop. "It's all I have left.."

	Roughly, he jerked them down to her knees, and she watched him
stare at her pubic hair. Cathy whimpered, feeling the cool dirt on
her naked body. He reached to his pants, and started to unzip his
fly.

	Suddenly, she detected the unmistakable sound of a car
approaching. The gang members also heard it, and looked up anxiously.
Soon she could see approaching headlights through the trees. It was
likely to be a police patrol, and the maggots knew it.

	"Quick, get in the car! Let's get outta here, it's the cops!"
one shouted excitedly. The other two scrambled toward the car, while
their leader quickly jumped to his feet, pulling his pants up.

	"You're fuckin' lucky, bitch," he yelled at Cathy. "But I'm
taking these." And with that he reached down to Cathy and tried to
yank off her panties, which were still at her knees.

	She screamed, spreading her legs widely apart to keep him from
getting them. She knew her pussy was aimed directly at him, but she
was too involved with saving her panties to care.

	He realized that he could get them off her if he had the time,
but he knew the others weren't going to wait for him. Abandoning his
effort, he ran to the car.

	"Fuck you, cunt!" he yelled at her. "I'll get you next time."
And with that, he started toward the car, which was already revving
up, abandoning Cathy on the ground tied up helplessly, with her
panties pulled down.

	"Wait! Give me my clothes!" she screamed. "Don't leave me
like this!" She thrashed about on her back, trying frantically to get
to her feet. But she saw them hurrying to escape before the car
arrived.

	As they gunned the engine, she screamed hysterically one last
time. "Please! I need my clothes!"

	But it was no use. They were in much too big a hurry to
escape from the area, and held no misgivings about abandoning her in
public, as good as nude and tied up. They were soon disappearing in a
cloud of dust.

	The car approached about fifteen seconds later, and through
the trees she saw that it was indeed a city police car. She struggled
to get to her feet and enlist their help, despite the obvious
humiliation, but, on her back she could barely move. So she rolled
onto her belly and spread her legs to get some leverage.

	In a last effort, she lay back down on her back and stuck her
legs in the air, crisscrossing them in a way that she hoped would let
her panties fall back to her hips. But it was no use. They just
wouldn't slide further than her thighs.

	She concluded, though, that to flag down the police car would
at least help her get home. As she expected, as soon as she stood up,
her panties fell to her ankles. Now utterly nude, she looked
helplessly between them and the police car.

	But she decided to risk all and, in a desperate attempt to
obtain assistance, she began chasing their departing car, leaving her
crumpled panties on the sidewalk behind her. Her tits bounced wildly
as she ran, specks of dirt flying off into the air. She was quite a
sight, dashing through the park, stark naked.

	But after about fifty yards she realized, with great dismay,
that they hadn't seen her. And they were too far off now to notice
her in their rear-view mirror, and she thought she heard them
accelerate, possibly in response to spotting the gang members.

	Panting, alone and her arms lashed together behind her, she
stood under a street light, trying to come to grips with her
situation.

	She looked up above her head, squinting at the streetlight
that was flooding her. She gasped, recalling that she wasn't wearing
a stitch of clothing and jumped off the little through- road and
scampered into a more heavily wooded area to try and figure out how to
get to her apartment, a full mile away.

	"God," she thought to herself. "I have to get out of these
ropes." She crouched behind a thicket of bushes and struggled against
the tightly tied hemp.

	Suddenly, she froze. She heard approaching voices. "Oh
shit," she thought, "that's all I need - to get caught like this by a
bunch of people." She very cautiously peeked from behind the bush.

	"Oh no," she muttered, spying her panties on the sidewalk in
the distance. She could tell, by their voices, that they were guys
and that they were too near for her to be able to even try to run out
and retrieve her last grasp at modesty. She hoped that they would
either not notice them, or take no interest if they did.

	Then she saw them turn the corner. She jerked back behind the
bush, lest she be seen, and listened intently. She desperately wanted
to get her panties back, as she felt fairly sure that she could
wriggle back into them if she tried hard enough.

	"Hey man," she heard one of the guys say, "check it out.
Somebody got lucky tonight, it looks like." Cathy's hopes dimmed. She
knew they'd spied them. She heard them laughing and joking about
finding her underwear, longing for them to leave them behind.

	Within a minute or so she listened to their voices grow
fainter as they continued on their way. Waiting to be sure that she
was once again alone, she gingerly peeked out from behind the bush.
She was safe.

	Cathy swallowed hard, suppressing the butterflies in her
stomach. She popped up from behind the bush and ran out into the road
again, her tits bouncing crazily as she ran. She knelt down and
snatched her panties from the ground. Scampering back out of the lit
street, she ran for cover into the trees.

	As far as she could tell, she was still safe. Listening for
sounds of people, she heard only distant traffic. She carefully sat
down and worked her feet into her panties. Leaning back painfully
onto her arms, she stuck her legs in the air and her panties fell
toward her thighs.

	But that's as far as they would go.

	"Fuck," she whimpered. She squirmed, twisting her legs in the
air, but she couldn't get them past her thighs. When she got back
onto her feet the simply fell to the ground again. "God dammit!" she
moaned, exasperated.

	But she was determined to get back into the panties. She got
back down onto her back and carefully gyrating her hips for a good
five minutes, finally maneuvering back into them.

	If she could just get out of the ropes she might be able to
scrounge something more to cover herself with. As it was, she was
reduced to sneaking through the park wearing only a pair of dirty
panties, with no way of being able to conceal her nudity if she got
caught by someone.

	So, for about thirty minutes she quietly and carefully made
her way through the underbrush of the park, managing to avoid contact
with everyone she heard coming. She kept a hopeful eye out for a girl
or girls who might be able to help her out of the ropes and lend her
something to wear.

	She stubbed her toes a few times, and got a few scratches from
some bushes, but didn't get any serious injuries.