Yes, somehow

It was like she was a passenger in her own body. It moved to someone else’s whim, fellating that toy gun, the indecent outfit she was in making her squirm a little as it was.

There was just a tiny scrap of brown that hid her nipples, but beyond that all of her cleavage was on display, attracting countless eyes. As she was made to dance to the pounding music, it shook, occasionally a glimpse of the underside of her tits.

Her leg lifted up high, kicking against the pole; her daisy dukes rode up, providing a glimpse of the thong beneath.

Suddenly a sob escaped her lips, embarrassment overwhelming; she was able to pull her leg down.

She faltered for a moment, unused to not feeling like her body was on autopilot. She stumbled in place on the stage, panicking as she glimpsed the countless people watching her.

It wasn’t a dream. Oh god, it was real, people were seeing her parade around like this, show off-

Waverly squeaked. She almost fell off her feet as she ran back; she had to go backstage, change, get out of here. She didn’t want to wear this outfit for a moment longer.

Before she could get far, suddenly the manager was blocking her way off stage. He glowered.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“I, uh-” Waverly hesitated. She doubted the truth would go over well, the fact she sometimes seemed to lose control of her body.

“I changed my mind?” Waverly tried, flushing.

She spoke hurriedly, hoping to get it over with sooner rather than later. She still fidgeted on the spot, the pounding music overwhelming, the amount of her body she had on display thoroughly disconcerting.

“You don’t get to change your mind,” the manager said. “People want to see skin, you get back up there and show them skin. You volunteered for this, no backing out now.”

Waverly hesitated. No, there was no way she could do that. It was bad enough when her body was being dragged around, possessed and displayed by some unknown influence, but to demand she do it herself, to expose herself like that…

It made her shudder. Being seen with this much cleavage, shorts this short, such a tiny crop top… It was by far the most revealing thing she’d ever worn, and she had no intention of displaying more.

Not that she was given a choice.

At her hesitation, the manager scowled; in one motion he grabbed the tiny sliver at the front of her crop top and yanked it hard; Waverly yelped as it tore, and yelped again as she remembered she hadn’t been allowed to wear a bra with this costume.

He pushed her forwards, turning her around. Waverly’s arms flailed, trying to regain her balance as she was thrust back to centre stage, her tits bare and right in front of everyone.

She squeaked, crossing her arms over her chest in a vain effort to hide herself, but there was no getting away from all those people, from the manager that wanted her to take the rest off.

The music still played; Waverly looked around, panicked, her shorts feeling pitifully inadequate to give even a pretence of modesty.

Now the crowd was laughing. Maybe they found her humiliation amusing, maybe they thought her **** was part of the act; either way they seemed to be enjoying it far too much, giving far too much attention to her.