I feel like that should go without saying.

An unseen, malicious figure follows behind my friends and me as we're making our way down-con, walking fast, faces pass, and I'm tourney-bound. Staring blankly ahead making my way, making my way through the crowd~!

During our walk, I notice the bizarre phenomenon of at least ten times as many catcalls, propositions and wolf-whistles coming from my right side. Every individual piece of embarrassing verbal harassment was equally obnoxious and discomfiting, but it was kinda freaky to have a crowd screaming on one side, and a crowd calmly ogling on the other.

Raquel—who left Ace back at the booth— looks like she's about to tell me something, a nervous little smile tickling the corners of her lips, but after her eyes drift downwards for a split second, she just sorta drops it. Weird.

A few excited fans lie in our current path, bouncing and vibrating in place, looking like they're about to gush about us; they're three seriously attractive young men, the type of nerds who appear to have physical hobbies to go with their sedentary ones. They try to ask for our attention without being rude, and the skinniest guy brings a professional camera out of his bag, he points it at us, then, remembering himself, turns it to the side and says, "You guys look incredible! I didn't expect to see a Victoria Bolt cosplayer today let alone a Ramiel— uh, that is, I mean, can we take some pictures?"

Humoring their attraction with us, we decide to pose for a photo, after all, this is our job. As I try to assume a stance that provided as much modesty as possible in my minuscule, titillating costume, my friends flanking me strike their go-to poses, a big solid gunshow, and, a seductive spellweave.

A half-second before the shutter goes off, the tops of the two comely women beside me get pulled down by some unseen villain. Neither of my friends were wearing a bra of any kind, affording the camera an unparalleled snapshot of their massive knockers as they spill free— and answering my unspoken question about whether Natalie had green body paint on her boobs: She did, and it was kinda hot.

My face lights up in both ecstatic surprise and genuine sympathy for the women, while two of the boys taking our pictures match my countenance in sheer pleasurable shock at my well-endowed friends' gorgeous D-cup breasts being emancipated from their tops. Natalie screams in embarrassment, but recovers the bandeau from around her washboard abs before it drops off her hips entirely, though she struggles to get the tiny tube-top back over her colossal chest.

While I assist Raquel in the difficult task of pulling her bodice back up, finding it harder than expected to squeeze everything back in place, I get a nasty surprise myself; my satin miniskirt gets yanked all the way down to my knees, revealing the large penis it was already struggling to hide from the handsome young men.

The camera pointed at us takes another compromising photograph, this one containing a crystal clear shot of the flaccid penis dangling between my legs.

The third man standing before me gasps, his entire face throwing itself into an elated, aroused grin, pairing well with his straight friends' own smiling expressions. He nibbles on a finger, looking me all over, and I notice that he's hardly the only one here checking out my everything; I shriek, embarrassed beyond my own imagination at the densely packed exhibition hall getting a quintessential eyeful of my naked cock. When I try to throw both hands down to cover my sex, I discover to my horror and humiliation that there's a ziptie fastened tight around my wrists, binding my strong arms behind me— now, I can't do anything about my mortifying exposure except blush a deeper scarlet.

A voice positively dripping with condescending lust speaks over my shoulder. "Don't be like that, Darling, everybody could see that incredible cock under your tiny little 'costume' anyway. Did your friends seriously not tell you your wrap was on sideways?"

What. Was that what Raquel didn't tell me?! I can't believe she'd subject me to that kind of humiliation; letting what could have been thousands of people see the penis my skirt was supposed to keep hidden because she didn't warn me… but for now, it's time to discover our current tormentors identity.

I shuffle around to check for the lady inflicting this dreadful humiliation upon us, and, when I see who it is, my breathing hitches and my eyes go wide— I recognize the woman standing before me all too well.