The aftermath (the end?)

"OK, guys, great show tonight!" the stage manager cried as the cameras stopped rolling and the lights went up.

With no one paying her any attention, Sydney slipped off the couch, secured her arms across her torso, and hurried in the direction of her dressing room. But as she reached the stage door a producer stepped forward to block her path.

"You can't leave just yet, Miss Sweeney," the producer said. "You've still got your meet and greet."

Turning around, Sydney saw a gaggle of autograph seekers who had descended from the auditorium and were gathered expectantly.

"Can I at least put some clothes on first?" she asked.

"It would be better for everyone if you do it now," the producer said, taking the naked girl by the shoulder and maneuvering her over to her fans.

"H-hi, guys," Sydney smiled weakly, her face as red as the dress she wished she was still wearing. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

"Very much so," a young man answered. "I've watched all of your work, but it's great to see your tits live!"

"T-thanks?" Sydney answered, uncertainly. Crossing her legs in an attempt to shield her pussy, Sydney draped her left arm across her chest while her right hand signed autographs. Whenever she had to pose for a selfie, the blonde girl bit her tongue as the phone user took the opportunity to squeeze or slap her buttocks. She tried her hardest to keep her breasts out of the shot, but instinctively knew that she had failed.

Only when everyone was satisfied with their mementos was the naked girl allowed to scurry back to her dressing room.

Once the door was locked and she finally had privacy, Sydney burst into tears. Her change of clothes lay invitingly on the chair where she had left them, but her bare skin was crawling and, for some reason, sweaty. So instead of throwing her clothes on, she collapsed into the shower and curled into the fetal position.

When she eventually emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet and wrapped in a towel, Sydney realised that some of her clothes had gone missing. Her bra and panties were nowhere to be seen, and her socks had gone the same way.

After drying herself, the humiliated girl dressed in what she had left. It felt weird to be going commando inside her jeans, and the sensation of her converse touching her feet was a strange one. **** to get home, she scooped up her bag, checked that everything was inside, and headed for the parking lot with her blonde hair still damp. She hugged her chest as she made her way back to the lobby; the only thing she had been left to wear on her top half was a shirt, and that was doing an inadequate job of supporting her breasts.

Heat continued to rise up her face as she reached the exit; everyone was smiling mysteriously at her...what did they know that she didn't?

xxx

Sydney Sweeney never did find out what happened that day.

The network deliberately never aired the show again, and closely monitored social media to copyright strike anyone who tried to post clips of it; all to keep Sydney in the dark.

The veiled remarks she received only infuriated her further, but despite her best efforts, she was never able to track down any footage.

The network recorded record ratings, the film studio racked in profits off the back of Sydney's promotional work, and the intern who had pilfered Sydney's underwear and jacket made a small fortune on eBay.

Everyone involved took happy memories from the day. Everyone except Sydney, who had no memories at all...