The red carpet

All in all, it was a rather glamorous event. Celebrities walked the carpet, posed for the photographers, answered a few cursory questions, and walked on in. All very glamorous. Designers hoped to make their names with the dresses they created, actresses walked confidently down the carpet proud of every inch of fabric.

And then there was one noticeable exception. Brie Larson was conspicuously absent, despite being expected. A few murmurs went through the crowd of 'fashionably late,' but little beyond that.

Until a car with tinted windows pulled up, lingered in place for a couple of seconds more than strictly necessary, and then the door opened and Brie stumbled out.

She froze in place for a moment, and several hundred people froze in a similar sense of shock, to see the actress clad in absolutely nothing beyond a glittering pair of heeled sandals although her hair was immaculate, blonde waves going down one side of her head, just light enough that golden earrings could be glimpsed, complementing her look.

In addition, her make-up too was exquisite, capped off with striking red lipstick that was very nearly the same shade as her cheeks.

For that was all she had. She stood there for a long moment, her body which she'd spent a great deal of time making sure it looked perfect exposed far more than she'd planned. One forearm was crossed tightly over her chest, blocking her nipples from view (save, perhaps, for a shadow under her wrist) but little else, the swell beneath and the cleavage above if anything more pronounced. Her hand was trembling.

So too was her other hand, open and held firmly over the join of her hips, though it did nothing to hide her long, bare legs and thighs from view, the curve of her ass there for all to see.

She bit her lip, perfectly still even if her wide eyes darted around, disbelieving that she was in this situation.

When the first camera clicked, Brie ran.

She hurried down the carpet as fast as her heels would allow, hair drifting back behind her, a low squeak slipping out of her throat.

"Miss Larson, Miss Larson!"

She faltered by the obligatory journalist near the entrance, keeping both arms in place.

"Um, who are you wearing?" the journalist tried.

"Is that meant to be a joke?" Brie said. Her voice came out just a little shaky, half- and half still trying vainly to believe that this wasn't happening.

The journalist hesitated. This was, admittedly, a situation they were perhaps as unprepared for as Brie.

"Um. Mani-cam?" the journalist tried.

Brie faltered, nervously glancing down quickly at the box. The blush in her cheeks deepened, easily visible even through her make-up.

She quickly obliged, lowering one hand to let her fingers walk down the faux-carpet almost as quickly as she'd hurried down the real one, and for those few seconds each of her tits was completely bared.

Flushing, she hastily pulled her arm back with a nervous squeak, silently praying that at least her pussy would go unseen. Then, gratefully, Brie hurried on, all too aware of the cameras that had snapped every instant of her humiliation, to say nothing of her now-departing ass.

A whimper escaped her lips as she ducked into the relative cover of the theatre, knowing it was far from over. Oh god, and in her mind she kept replaying how this all had started...