The High Striker

Emily raised the hammer above her head and brought it down on the target for all she was worth. The lights flashed all up and down the tower of the High Striker as the puck rose into the air, propelled upwards by the strength of her blow. Two... three... four feet...

A bell rang. A robotic voice called out "Pathetic effort, buttercup! Try again!"

"Wow," said Logan, watching the puck settle back to its starting position. The tower loomed over them, twenty feet tall, a copper bell sitting at the top. "I know you're just a girl, but most first-timers can at least make it all the way up to Weakling."

Emily looked so glum that he almost felt sorry for her. Standing before him in her loose T-shirt and tight little shorts, small and perky and eager to please, she looked so cute that he was almost tempted to let her off the hook. Almost.

"I'm Logan, but you can call me Atlas. That's how we do things round here, see? You're named after the highest rank you can earn on the strength tester. Sound fair to you?"

"I guess," said Emily, looking up the tower. ATLAS was written just below the top. She looked over at Logan, who was admiring his gleaming muscles in the sunlight as a couple of starry-eyed teenage girls looked on. "So what's my name?"

"How high did you get the puck?"

"Up to... Buttercup?"

"Pleased to meet you, Buttercup. Let me show you how it all works."

"Wait," said Emily, pink spots blooming in her cheeks as the teenagers giggled. "Buttercup? Really?"

"Yep."

"Don't you think that's a little... degrading?"

"Well, you should have done better on the strength test. I guess you could have another go..."

"I will!"

"But I warn you, there's no guarantee you'll do any better."

Five minutes later, Emily was on her knees at the base of the high striker, polishing the machinery and frowning to herself. She didn't want to raise a fuss, but the situation just didn't seem fair to her. How could she be expected to do as well as Logan - no, Atlas? And why was the lowest rank called what it was, anyway? Who designed this machine? No, as soon as she saw Mr. Jackson again she was going to give him a piece of her mind about this whole business. Maybe. A little bit. She might ask him politely.

"Over here, Sugartits!"

Emily stood up and turned around, her back to the puck. One of the teenage girls, a brunette in yoga pants who looked like she worked out a lot, was holding the hammer, advancing towards the target. The other was hanging off Logan's bicep, drawing him towards a nearby bush.

"Taking a break, Sugartits! Be right back!"

"Hey!" Emily tamped her feet in frustration, a move that made her breasts bounce prettily behind her crossed arms. "But, Logan, I don't even know how to operate the machine yet!"

"It has its quirks, but I'm sure you'll figure it out. Just make sure not to mmpfgh, whatever you do."

"What?"

"Mmmfghpfh..." Logan's tongue was now halfway down the nineteen-year-old's throat as they stumbled into the undergrowth. Emily took a step back and glared at the girl with the hammer, beginning to feel just a little bit cross. Sugartits! The nerve of it! Well, she was an easygoing girl, but that was the last straw. He'd pushed her too far. Right now, she was going to regain her self-control and her dignity.

"Machine's closed," she said, starting towards the girl, intending to send her away with her strength untested. She was caught short by a tug on her clothing. Some part of her garments were caught on some part of the machine. She had just enough time to realise it was her panties, caught on the puck, before the hammer came down.

"Eeeeek!"

The puck shot up.

The back of Emily's panties, attached to the puck, also shot up.

Emily, wearing her panties, shot up as well.

Emily's shorts, however, caught by surprise and **** to the forces of gravity, stayed exactly where they were. Which was unfortunate for Emily.

"Nice job, champion!" boomed the robot voice. As Emily hung by the back of her panties, suspended in midair about twenty feet off the ground, the bell rang out, turning heads across the fair. "You sure put me in my place!"

"Um..."

As the brunette smirked up at her, pulling a cell phone out of her sports bra to capture the moment, and a couple more teenagers wandered over to see what all the fuss was about, Emily felt her cheeks grow hot. She kicked her long, bare, beautiful legs, flailing helplessly in the air, the wind cool against her thighs. The cotton of her panties was drawn very, very tightly between her perfect, peachy buttocks, a sensation she hadn't felt since high school. She tried to hold her shirt down over her panties, the wind flattening the yellow fabric aginst her chest and showing off the exact state of her hardening nipples. There was no hiding, however, that she'd been very cleanly and efficiently separated from her shorts.

The puck was right up against the top of the tower, her wedgied bottom a few inches of stretched cotton bellow. Perhaps if she could get some leverage on the bell, she could lift herself up and alleviate the pressure on her posterior? She flailed behind her, her shirt lifted by the breeze, and managed to get herself just an inch or so further up.

That was a little better. She could see for miles up here! Perhaps this wasn't so bad, even if her red panties were right now being put on display before a slowly-growing crowd of hooting tourists. There was a maintenance ladder on the other side of the tower. Now, if she could just...

"Time to play again!"

The puck dropped a few feet, then stopped. A little puff of steam squirted from the machinery. Something odd was happening.

Emily whimpered.

She'd only fallen a few feet, but that wasn't why she was whimpering. The hem of her loose T-shirt had caught on the bell's clapper. Luckily, the material was strong. Unluckily, that meant she was now hanging by the back of the T-shirt, which was attached to a point about her head. Which mean the T-shirt had ridden up, bunching around her armpits, dangling her in mid-air.

She looked down. Twenty feet wasn't really that high up, when you thought about it. Certainly, you could get a very good look at a beautiful girl's bare breasts from twenty feet. Especially if they were was big as Emily's were.

She tried to pull her T-shirt back down over her breasts, her long legs continuing to kick. The fabric was just stretched too tight. She couldn't shift it. She crossed her hands over her chest and settled for wiggling and squirming, hanging in the air in the middle of a crowded fairground with effectively nothing to cover her below the shoulders but a small, skimpy pair of red panties. She was stuck.

And on her first day, too!

Still, there was always room for optimism. She had to look on the bright side. At least she still had her panties on, small and tight as they may be. She couldn't imagine how mortified she would be if, in addition to her breasts, people could get a look at her lady garden!

There was another puff of steam from the machine.

The puck began, very slowly, to move down. It was trying to reset itself for the next user. Since Emily's panties were still very firmly snagged to it, this had consequences. Very unfortunate consquences. For Emily, at least.

The next few minutes were the longest of her life. She could just about get her arms down to the level of her breasts, but no matter what she tried, there was no way to get a grip on her panties. Which meant there was no way to prevent them from being very, very slowly pulled down.

There had to be something she could do. Some way she could conceal her modesty, as the panties slid down her hips, revealing a tantalising curl of golden pubic hair.

But there wasn't.

The brunette was recording on her cell phone, and a spotty-faced teen in an anime T-shirt was calling all his friend over to check her out. The panties slid down another inch, revealing a very private dimple in Emily's thigh. She bit her lip. No no no no no no no...

They slid down just a little further.

And, very slowly, in the most excruciating, tantalising moments of her whole entire life, Emily's panties were pulled down in front of a cheering audience. She hung by her loose T-shirt from the bell at the top of the high striker, her hands over her breasts, her panties around her knees and a cool wind toying with the blonde curls that framed her pussy. She was naked. Trapped, and naked. In front of everybody.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the voice announced, "we have a real loser here!"

And the puck shot back up a few feet, dragging Emily's panties with it. She gasped in surprise as she was re-wedgied, the fabric jerked up between her buttocks with alarming speed.

"Yep!" the voice announced. "A pathetic little buttercup! Look at her go!"

The panties were yanked down again, exposing Emily's pussy once more, before being pulled up even harder. The puck shot up and down, pantsing Emily, wedgieing her, then pantsing her again. She shrieked and struggled, swaying back and forth, even letting her breasts bounce free of her hands in her desperation to keep the rogue undergarment under control, but there was nothing she could do. Up and down, up and down, over and over, making her squeal every single time. The machine was broken! And she didn't know how to fix it!

"Look at the silly little girl," crowed the voice, stuck in a preprogrammed loop. "She's so useless! She can't do anything! Everyone, come and make fun of our humiliated loser!"

"Eeeeeeek!"

She was stuck. She was pretty sure someone had taken her shorts as a souvenir. There was no escaping until Logan came back from his break, however long that was going to take. And, as the puck paused at the top of the cycle, to begin the long, laborious process of slowly lowering Emily's panties down around her knees all over again, she heard the robot voice call a name. Immediately, the chant was taken up by the crowd.

"Sugartits! Sugartits! Sugartits!"