Cosplay Oops Of The Best Kind

Cosplay Warddrobe Malfunction... of the best kind

(originally submitted in four parts on a different forum)

"Can I take your picture?" the man said eagerly.

Nancy flashed him a bright smile and nodded assent. This was the seventh request she had gotten since she'd gotten off the bus, and each time made her giddy inside. It was her first time cosplaying, and she'd really wanted to get it right. To that end, she'd worked tirelessly on her Batgirl costume, tailoring the tight black-and-purple swimsuit material to her voluptuous frame, picking out the right black boots and globes, finding the perfect cowl.

She'd also worked on herself. At 35, she was still young and pretty, with a round face and blushing cheeks, but she was also 4'10" and 125 pounds. It took exercise and discipline to keep the curves where she wanted them--in her broad hips, ample thighs and heavy breasts.

Her work had obviously paid off. The con-goer snapped several pictures and thanked Nancy. "You're welcome!" she answered brightly. As the fan walked away, Nancy felt a tingling of excitement. All of this attention was making her feel attractive and desired. She licked her lips, adjusted her blond wig (over her own dark brown hair), and strode down the hall, drawing admiring glances from the the throng.

What Nancy didn't know, and what her photographers soon discovered, was that the material used for the skin-tight Batgirl outfit was not of the best quality. Sure, it looked amazing, skin-tight to Nancy's form, but in fact, it was prone to raveling and disintegration. Throughout the day, it got thinner and thinner. This was not be immediately apparent, as the cloth was black, but it was clear in flash photography. Then her outfit was translucent, Nancy's wide pink areolae and fair-skinned breasts quite visible, as well as the dark fur between her thighs. From behind, the crack of her wide, curvy behind was distinct.

The internet being what it is, as soon as the first pictures were uploaded to the web, Nancy became a very popular girl. By the end of the afternoon, she'd attracted a veritable fanclub, and the incidence of photography increased. It was particularly gratifying when Nancy adopted a combat pose, spreading her legs in a wide stance. Then, not only her hair, but even the lips of her pussy (now rather moist) came into view. One photographer snatched a shot of Nancy dramatically high-kicking. The resulting photo quickly topped the charts on Flikr and Facebook, attracting thousands of "likes" and not a few tributes.

But this was nothing compared to what would happen at the Masquerade...

***

Nancy waited backstage for her turn to go on. The thrill of performance sent tingles throughout her short plump body. There were about thirty of them in the dimly lit area behind the stage, most doing last-minute rehearsals for their skit. Nancy already had her routine down by heart though she had concerns that it wouldn't be anything show-winning.

As luck would have it, she was number 32--the last to go up. As skit after skit went up, each more impressive than the last, Nancy's heart sank. They were all so good and their costumes so perfect. What could one little Batgirl, one who barely fit within the confines of her skin-tight suit, no less, do to win the show?

It was dark during the last skit and there were no other performers nearby. Instinctively, the fingers of her right hand crept down to her crotch. *Just letting off steam* she thought as the tip of her finger found her clit. Her broad hips jumped at the touch and she began to rub in small circles. Nancy spread her thighs and closed her eyes, her other hand cupping her breast. She felt the nipple stiffen with the attention. Her curvaceous body began to sway rhythmically and her lips parted slightly.

Not ten feet away, a stagehand was cleaning up feathers that had fallen off the costumes of the prior performers. Nancy's actions quickly caught his notice. Though it had seemed dark and private enough when Nancy had begun her internal explorations, in fact, she was, in fact, quite clearly outlined by the bright lights off to her side. Her profile was a silhouette, but her movements were unmistakable. The stagehand could see the glistening as Nancy's lips parted, could see her fondle her breasts, could even see her furry thatch quite brightly limned by the stage lights. This surprised him. It looked like she wasn't wearing a stitch.

He swallowed. Could this be possible? Had this performer stripped out of her costume while no one was looking? Or was it just a trick of the light? Looking more closely, he saw what was happening. The material of Nancy's costume, progressively failing, had finally given up the ghost once she had started playing with herself. As the stagehand watched, the fabric split and shed in large pieces, drifting slowly to the floor virtually weightless. It slipped off Nancy's breasts leaving them open to the air. It fell off her thighs exposing creamy skin. In short order, only her cowl, cape, boots and gloves were left.

But Nancy didn't notice. It all felt too good. It was not until the applause and the buzzer announcing that her time had come did she abandon her activities. She frowned a little--she hadn't quite finished. Then she smiled. It was show time!

Hearing her name announced, she boldly walked out through the curtain and onto the stage... unknowingly leaving her costume in tatters behind her.

***

Nancy strode with pride to the stage ready to give a long performance. Each of the cosplayers were given a full five minutes to perform a skit or monologue to give the audience a good look at each costume.

At first, it was unclear that her costume was unusual. The lights were momentarily dim during the transition, and skin-tight superhero suits are the norm. Those in the front rows were the first to catch on to the telltales: the unsupported weight of heavy breasts, the unmitigated jiggle of curvy flesh, the glistening of light on uncovered body hair.

Gradually, the lights came up and the cheers began for the bold superheroine. They were far more enthusiastic than Nancy had expected, and she smiled broadly, her gloved fists on her broad naked hips. She thrust out her chest, broad breasts capped with taut nipples.

Soaring on the wave of applause and cheer, Nancy opened her mouth to deliver her planned speech, warning the bad folks of Gotham to beware the new force of justice in town... and then she noticed. The dazzling bright lights had forestalled this moment , but now it was all too cear--Nancy had been strutting and posing on stage, virtually nude, for a good thirty seconds. A crimson flush came to her cheeks, quite visible even from the rear seats, and goosebumps pimpled her skin. Nancy stifled a scream and quickly placed her hands in Venus position, trying to cover with far too little far too much.

Escape was her first thought, and she turned to sprint back behind the curtains of the stage. The audience got a fine view of her broad, pale behind then and cheered anew. As she began to trot away, cape billowing, the crowd let out a cry of disappointment. Nancy pushed the curtains aside only to see that the door backstage was closed and stuck. She tugged, but it would not open. "Come back, Batgirl!" came a pleading voice. Encouraging noises accompanied the shout.

Why wouldn't the door open? Nancy pulled harder. Why was the show continuing? Perhaps the people running the show couldn't see what was wrong with their eyes full of spotlight. Nancy dimly heard a repeated chant beginning to form behind her. "Come back, Batgirl! Come back, Batgirl!" Each syllable was punctuated by the clapping of hands. In short order, it became almost deafening. Nancy gave up the attempt on the door as futile and considered her options.

She could wrap herself in her cape and wait. She could try to slink off the stage into the crowd, preserving her modesty as best she could. She could curl into a ball and cry.

But that wasn't Batgirl's style, was it?

As the crowd's cheer grew more earnest and lustful, she smiled. They wanted to see her. Curvy, mature her. She hesitated a moment. She hadn't shaved her body anywhere in... well, she didn't shave. Why bother? Her husband preferred her natural, and in any event, it only really showed under her arms. Nancy bit her lip. Well, the audience had already seen her, faults and all, and they'd liked what they'd seen. Mid-30s or no, plump or no, she *was* objectively still a pretty girl. Maybe it was time to let them get a good look at what a *real* woman looked like.

***

Nancy wheeled on one foot and turned to face the chanting crowd. She took a deep breath, strode out to the front of the stage, and gave a broad, beaming smile. The audience went wild, cheering and applauding. She performed a series of surprisingly graceful moves, belying her 25 pounds of extra padding. A kick, a pirouette, a few punches. Her cape flapped around her pale bare skin as she did so, heavy breasts pendulating.

She completed the maneuvers, gloved hands stretched to the ceiling, dark hair where her thighs met and under her arms. The crowd's approbation was intoxicating. Nancy felt as if her heart was about to burst, and the excitement she'd felt backstage was a throbbing desire centered in her loins and in the tips of her breasts.

"Do you want a grand finale?" Nancy shrilled, eyes glowing.

The audience roared with one mouth, "Yes!"

The cowled girl smiled mischievously and began to caress herself with leather-gloved fingers. One hand tugged and twisted at her nipples, turning broad areolae into tightened nubs. The other slid between her thighs where it was so, so moist now. There were gasps from the audience, and then their cheering died down. They became quiet, in rapt attention as Nancy played with herself. She moaned, and the silence became total as they strained their ears to hear her utterances of pleasure. Nancy spread her legs apart and nearly bent double as her fingers slid in and out of her pink slit. The pace of her pleasuring fingers quickened. Her pale sweat-beaded skin glistened in the bright stage lights. She rubbed her furry clit with her other hand now, devoting both sets of fingers to the task. She gasped, and her face became increasingly flushed, her chest as well.

On a sudden, her head whipped back, and she cried out skyward. Nancy thrust two fingers deep inside and she started to come, her spotlit features contorted with ecstasy. Her broad hips began to buck against her hand; she squeezed her eyes tightly. Good God, it wouldn't stop. 10 seconds, 20 seconds; the orgasm seemed endless. Nancy bit her lip and then gave one final yell.

She withdrew her gloved fingers, now sopping wet. Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes. The cheering began anew, and the audience rose in a standing ovation. Nancy took a moment to recover, the tingling that had engulfed her body slowly receding. She wobbled slightly and then smiled, looking down at the crowd, whose nearest members were a scant few feet away.

A full minute of thunderous appreciation elapsed. The applause showed no sign of abating, and Nancy decided to give them one final gift: herself.

Taking three steps back, she then took a flying leap off the stage. For an endless moment, she seemed fixed in the air, cape streaming back, legs split wide like a ballerina's, her used, swollen labia glistening with moisture...

...and then she landed on a soft bed of outstretched palms. Buoyed by the audience, Nancy felt their caressing, groping hands on every inch of her as she was passed from the stage to the center. She felt her excitement peak again as questing fingers slid over and into her.

It would be quite a long time before the audience was ready for another act.

The End