Unexpected and Unwanted Visitors

Violet could not use her arms to cover herself as she traversed the complex upper level; keeping her balance was far more important. When she could, she walked upright over the rope bridges, one hand on either of the ropes that supported the bridge, her small boobs bare to the rushing wind.

Her cheeks flushed, and she progressed carefully to the next of the windmills. She knew how to get back, it was just a long way, and it felt even longer as a gust of air hit her from behind; she didn't stumble, but did feel it whistle between her legs.

It was impossible to forget her undressed state. Only her shoes offered her any cover, and they were thoroughly inadequate for the parts she really wanted to have dressed.

She half-fell into the next windmill as she reached it, bare front toppling against the surface. She kept close, sliding along it to move along the narrow ledge. Her cheeks were the warmest part of her.

As soon as she could she started along the next walkway; this one was unsteady enough that she crawled, her ass up in the air behind her, carefully making her way to the next windmill. Only a couple had a ladder that would lead her back to the ground.

This is the time to inform you that Violet's ordeal was far from over. There are many stories out there where the heroine does not find herself in such embarrassing predicaments, and even if they do they would be dressed and home again quickly.

For Violet however, this is a long, long story of a red face, a bare behind, exposed tits, and a pussy she'd hoped to keep private for quite some time more.

The nude Baudelaire, while she was on her hands and knees, had a good view of the ground at the base of the windmills, and through a hole in a plank she suddenly caught sight of movement. A nervous squeak escaped her lips, and she quickly drew her limbs inwards, hoping to keep the pale skin from drawing attention.

She was high enough up that the figures couldn't be made out in any detail. There were two, and as Violet could not see their faces that could only be thought of as the Man with Clothes but No Hat, and the Woman with a Hat but No Clothes.

Eyes wide, and too distracted to wonder why someone else was nude, Violet hurried on. She held her breathed, hoping the swaying of the walkway would be put down to the usual.

She kept crawling, not wanting to stand up and so make herself even more visible.

Occasionally she peered down. The Woman with a Hat but No Clothes was wandering around the bases of the windmills, apparently annoyed, looking at each in turn. Thankfully neither she nor the Man with Clothes but No Hat were looking up.

Breathlessly, Violet made it over the last walkway, reaching the windmill she'd come up on. It was tall and spindly like the others, a metal frame with still no way inside and worse, no cover beyond the ladder that connected the top of it to the ground below. Violet crouched, shivering as another gust of wind rushed past her exposed body.

She looked down again, cheeks reddening. The two were still there and giving no sign of wanting to leave.

After a moment, the Woman with a Hat but No Clothes gave an audible, annoyed yell. Panicked, Violet drew her head back.

She couldn't be seen by them! She couldn't be seen by anyone like this. But she also couldn't stay up on top of the Wavering Windmills forever. Violet hunched over, hugging her arms to her bare chest; she risked a glance down again.

At least they were over the far side of the Windmills now. Violet swallowed.

Maybe if she hurried...

She hadn't planned everything out, but getting somewhere that wasn't out in the open had to be a priority. With one last look down, Violet hurriedly slipped over the edge, her feet landing on the top rung.

She scrambled down as quickly as she could, murmuring 'please' under her breath as she did her best to hurry. The windmill swayed.

There is a word called 'mortification,' used to describe a sense of great shame or humiliation, a word that here means **** embarrassment due to being without one's clothing for a prolonged period of time in a very public place. Violet believed she was experiencing it, and that she could not be any more embarrassed.

But the phrase 'it couldn't possibly get worse' inevitably means that things are about to, inevitably, get worse. I am reminded of a night at the opera, and an incident involving unsecured straps, a too-tight brassiere, a loose thread, and a great deal of mortification, but that is not the story being told. I suspect it would be of little comfort to Violet to know that Beatrice too had a similar exposure.

For as Violet passed the halfway point of the ladder, she could see the Man with Clothes but No Hat turn around and give a sudden cry at the sight of the nude woman climbing down the ladder at the side of the metal-frame windmill. Now that she was lower she could recognise his face, but she had no time to wonder at why Vice-Principal Nero was at the Wavering Windmills because his gesture caused the Woman with a Hat but No Clothes to turn around also.

And Violet suddenly found herself looking into the familiar face of one Esme Squalor. A few blonde curls peeked out from under her wide-brimmed hat, and her face cracked into a thoroughly unnerving grin as she walked closer.

Violet's eyes widened. Of all the people she didn't want to be caught naked by, Esme was close to the top of the list. And-

Would she rather be at the top of an unstable windmill with Esme at the bottom, or at the bottom but closer to Esme? The latter seemed by far the better option. Eyes widening and cheeks flushing, Violet began to climb faster.

For a few seconds she had hope that she might be able to reach the bottom before Esme came closer. Of course it was not to be; long before Violet had reached the ground Esme and Nero were standing there, awaiting the nude Baudelaire and in the mean time getting a clear view of her ass.

Violet whimpered.

She clung onto the ladder for a few moments, glancing back over a bare shoulder to Esme. Part of her mind was wondering why on earth Esme was naked too, but most of her was concerned with the fact she was about to go into Esme's clutches.

There was no other way down, and going up seemed... unsafe, to say the least.

"Fancy meeting you here," Esme said, eyes alight. "So much of you."

Violet flushed further. She pressed her legs together, as though that could offer her any more modesty.

"What are you doing here?!" Violet said, voice shaking.

"What do you think?" Esme said. She gave a frustrated sigh. "Following the paper trail. Dreadfully boring, but if anyone knows where my Sugar Bowl is... I'm guessing you must be here for the same."

"Th-there was nothing up there," Violet said.

She still clung to the ladder, cheeks burning. Her foot shifted within her shoe, feeling the folded up paper she'd taken. The only way she could try for some modesty would be to use her arms, but that would only be possible on the ground, and in Esme's grasp. Violet bit her lip.

"Wh-why are you naked?" Violet said.

"Oh, darling, public nudity is in," Esme said. "Don't tell me this was an accident, it's probably the first time in your life you've been fashionable. In fact, I know just where to take you."

Violet whimpered. But, reluctantly, slid down the final few rungs until her feet hit the ground and, nervously, she turned. Mortified, Violet crossed one arm across her chest, and held her other hand over the join of her thighs, blushing further under Esme's gaze.