Fix your clothes

You felt a slight breeze against your shoulder. It reminded you that you were sitting in a public place in your bra. And that that bra was not in the same condition it had been in when you put it on this morning.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out your top. It took a couple minutes to straighten it out on the desk. The prognosis was not good. There was a large rip down the entire back. That had been your exit point from the garment. The seam holding the right sleeve had unraveled. Less than a quarter of it remained to hold it on. Even that was more thread than seam. The left sleeve was stretched to twice its normal length. There were a couple tears at the end of it. That was the damage that had occurred when you had fallen out of the bush.

As bad as that seemed, you might have been able to salvage the top, had you not done more damage trying to remove it from the bush. The front was shredded. There were at least two dozen places the cloth had been pierced by the thorns. A couple were merely holes, where the thorn had entered and then exited out the same way it had entered. Most of the time the thorn had moved up or down the cloth as you had pulled on the garment to free it. The result was the front was a set of thin strips of cloth attached to the collar and tail rather than a solid piece of cloth. Anything that it might have hid would have been revealed each time you moved.

It was useless. With the dorms deemed out of bounds, you couldn’t go get something to replace with. That meant running around in your bra until the end of the game. You had no desire to run around in your underwear. You wouldn’t if you could have avoided it. Still, it covered a lot more than most of the bikinis you had worn last summer. It also gave you more support than the tops of most bikinis. At least it would if it had both straps working.

The strap hanging down the right side in front was easy to reach. It appeared to be in good shape. You reached behind your back for the other end. It seemed to dance enticingly just out of reach. You managed to grab it a couple times, but it slipped out of your fingers when you tried to pull it into view.

It finally dawned on you that the strap was too short for you to bring around to your front from where it hung in back. You grimaced as you realized that you needed to take off your bra in order to fix it. Despite your confidence in the solitary nature of your hiding place, you were still **** to take it off. The thought that you could use your tattered top to cover your tits gave you the courage to try.

You reached behind your back with both hands. The first two hooks parted easily. But you couldn’t get the third one to unclasp. Maybe it was your **** to bear your breasts. Maybe the missing strap allowed your bra to shift so that the strain twisted the hook until it was jammed. Maybe that sadistic pervert who designed the stupid thing with its fasteners in back was trying to play with your mind. Once again you cursed him and swore to always wear sports bras.

You decided to switch tactics. You were going to slide the hooks around to the front where you could reach them with ease. In order to do so, you needed to remove your left arm from between the remaining strap and cloth that circled your chest. Even as you moved your arms to do it, the hook decided to release. The ends of your bra whipped around. The right side slapped the tender flesh of your chest as it passed. The now loose garment circled your left arm on its way to the desk.

Your eyes weren’t on it as it fell. You saw something fly away from your bra as it whipped around. There weren’t many things that it could be. None of them could be considered non-essential for the proper functioning of your bra. You crossed to spot you thought you saw it fall. You had to get down on your hands and knees to look for the missing piece. It took several minutes before you spotted the small piece of plastic up against the baseboard. It was the clip that held the two pieces of your bra strap together.

You cursed softly as you tried to stand up and banged your head against the bottom of the table. Taking care not to lose your prize, you crawled out from under the table and stood up. You looked the clip over as you made your way back to the desk. It was bent up pretty good, but you were pretty sure it could be straightened enough to do its job of holding the bra strap together. The only problem was that when you got back to the desk, there was no bra strap for it to hold together. There was no bra on the desk at all. The tattered remains of your top was gone as well. Nervously you began to look around.

“Looking for this?” a voice called out behind you. You whirled. A figure was standing in the doorway holding your bra up by one end.