Look for clothes

I... I just wanna go home. I've had more than enough excitement for today! So first step--find some clothes. Better yet, get back my purse with the rest of my stuff--license, bus pass, phone, makeup kit, emergency forty dollars. I retrace my steps back to the lobby. I sigh in relief when I spot my purse sitting unobtrusively on the floor right in front of Dennis's desk. Dennis isn't around. As far as I can tell, looking around at the scattered piles of writhing, moaning bodies, he isn't in the lobby at all.

I'm further grateful when I look inside the nearby wastebasket and find my clothes still present. I fish it all out--thong, bra, stockings, heels, skirt, blouse--and begin re-dressing. I'm just smoothing down my skirt over my thighs--readying myself to flee--when hands of steel grab my shoulders from behind and a soft voice breathes in my ear--"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

It's one of the pleasure models! I should have wondered why they were leaving me alone before. It must have been because I was already naked. Now that I'm wearing clothes, I've made myself a target. Fuck, indeed!

Tears form in my eyes as the hands rip my blouse apart, the fabric falling to the floor in two ruined halves. My skirt immediately suffers the same fate, then my underthings--and almost as quickly as I can blink, I'm back to my previous nudity.

I don't have much time to wallow in self-pity, however. The pleasure model spins me around to face her, one of her hands pinching my left nipple, the other thrusting three middle fingers straight up my pussy. My mouth falls open--both at the intrusion and at her appearance. She could be my sister, almost my twin--same shoulder-length auburn hair, same pale skin, same teardrop tits. Her facial structure doesn't match, and she's shorter and lacks my freckles, but it's still an uncanny resemblance.

The pleasure model's fingers work me expertly, enthusiastically, better than I've ever managed myself. Her eyes bore into mine, and her mouth never stops opening and closing, intoning the same word over and over--"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" When I feel her thumb nudge apart my clitoral hood and press against the hard nub beneath, I come apart--my entire body shuddering, pussy clenching, fluids drenching her fingers. The hand at my nipple leaves its post and snakes around my lower back, pulling our bodies together, my breasts mashed against hers. She holds me like this as I gasp my way through my orgasm. The entire time, her fingers in my pussy never slacken, continually moving in and out.

Only when I've finished does she sit me gently on the ground and rush off in search of another victim. I pick up the ruins of my thong and stare listlessly. None of the clothes I was wearing are salvageable, and even if they were...I'd just be inviting another assault. If I'm going to escape this place, I'll have to do it naked.

So resolved, I swing my purse strap over my shoulder and head back outside, into the bright sunlight.