Internude

I'm on the bus when I first notice it. The smell of cum. Faint, distinctive, persistent. Maybe someone nearby just had a wank, which, given how full the bus is, is as impressive as it is just eww. Maybe it was even that guy from my class who's always perving over my breasts. Except...

Except, the smell, I realise, with growing horror and certainty, is coming from me. From my breasts. Like, what the fuck?

Being in public, I can't exactly undress or anything, and tempting though it is it get off the bus and head home - for a shower, for clean clothes, to kick my brother's ass for being a sick fucking asshole, since who else could have used my bra as a sex aid? - I'm already running late for class. It's a test, too, so I really can't afford to be late. Like, at all. So I sit in my seat on the bus, hoping against hope that no one around me notices the smell that is so embarrassingly obvious to me.

There isn't even time to stop in the bathroom and clean myself up! I barely make it to class in time, the perv from the bus hot on my heels. I struggle to concentrate on the test, self-conscious throughout that my classmates immediately next to me have to at least suspect that I am the source of that unmistakable scent. A struggle also because I find myself inexplicably aroused by the fact I smell of cum - how sick is that?

The end of the class can't come quickly enough. Ignoring the waves from my friends, I rush to the bathroom - pausing briefly in the corridor as the button of my jeans pings off. "Fuck!" I hiss, and bend carefully to pick it up, before hurrying into the bathroom and locking myself in a stall.

The smell is definitely coming from my breasts. Indeed, my bra is soaked with cum that is still wet, and it baffles me that I didn't notice when I put it on this morning. I certainly can't continue to wear it. Shoving the bra down to the bottom of my bag, I clean up as best I can, and resign myself to the fact my bralessness will be clearly discernible through my shirt - a black T-shirt, fortunately, and the slight dampness in the region of my breasts isn't obvious.

Planning a hundred horrible fates for my brother, I head for my next class, uncomfortably aware of the looseness of my jeans about my hips. I need to get a safety pin, or something. With the button missing, the only thing keeping my trousers up is the zip. No, better, I'll go shopping at lunchtime, get myself new jeans and a bra.

The lecture's just starting as I slip in at the back, taking a seat at the end of a row with a sigh of relief. Feeling semi-relaxed for the first time all day, I'm happy just to try and follow the rambling explanations that accompany the sketches and equations, mainly just copying it all down in the hope of understanding it later. And by the end of the class, I'm one hour closer to my shopping expedition.

I cry out in surprise as I stand up, my nipples suddenly excruciatingly sensitive, so much so that even the fabric of my T-shirt feels rough. And they're swollen, too, their hardness made visible by the sharp points they make in the fabric. I lean against the wall as my classmates sweep past, trying to catch my breath, trying also to conceal this fresh source of embarrassment from them. Worse still, I am actually drooling, saliva running down my chin, a strange taste in my mouth. I rush out, not wanting to be confronted, and have to clutch suddenly at my jeans, the zip having worked its way open.

Back in the safety of the bathroom, locked in a stall, I breathe a sigh of relief. There in privacy, I massage my aching nipples for a minute, and puzzle over the fact that my T-shirt, far from drying out over the past hour, seems even more wet in the region of my nipples. Is it possible my nipples are leaking milk or something? Although I can't think why.

All this attention is exciting me elsewhere as well. I ease a hand into the opening of my broken jeans, intending to find out if my knickers are similarly wet, but what I find sets my heart pounding in fear. Rather, what I don't find, because I have a clear memory of putting knickers (black lace, matching my bra) on this morning, but there is nothing there now. "What the fuck!" I scream quietly. "What the absolute fuck!"

It makes no sense. Just as the idea I could have put on my bra without noticing it was soaked with cum. And, in fact, I definitely had knickers on earlier when I took my bra off. I saw them peeking through my jeans, visible because of the lost button, but they certainly aren't visible now. So while it's just about possible that my brother came in my bra, I can't see how he could have anything to do with my disappearing knickers.

One thing's for certain. There will be no more classes for me today. It's straight to the shops. Holding up my jeans with one hand, and my T-shirt down with the other, I head out of the building and out across the campus towards town and salvation - not daring to look at anyone, sure that I must make an utterly absurd sight.

As I take a short cut across the grass, which has the side benefit of avoiding the people on the paths, I lose balance and fall to my hands and knees. A sharp pain in my ass cheeks has me gasping for breath, the pain mutating into a fierce, tingling heat and the caress of the cool breeze. My jeans, I realise, have fallen to my knees, and my bare bum is exposed to general view.

"Stop it," I cry. "Leave me alone!" As I struggle to my feet, and tug my jeans up to my waist again, the material scratching at my cheeks terribly, there's no sign of my shoes or socks. My abuser, as well as giving me an impossible spanking, has left me barefoot on the grass.

I can feel people staring at me. Students. Staff. I glance round at them, but can't see anyone I recognise. Feeling close to tears, I trudge on, determined to get to town, but take no more than twenty steps when a sharp pain has me grabbing at my nipples - which just makes the pain worse, until I realise my nipples have been clamped and chained.

In freeing my nipples from that torture, I manage to expose my own breasts to public view - and of course it's in that moment that my jeans fall to my ankles, and when I bend to pull them up my rosy-cheeked ass is completely vulnerable. It's almost not a shock when I feel the cold weight inside me...

Torn between covering up and extracting the thing penetrating my ass, I choose the former, the decision not at all helped by my nipples being clamped again - and this time I don't dare to let go of my trousers.

I fall to my knees, overwhelmed by this violation. I can't understand it at all. It's as if some perverted sex god is playing with me. I calm down gradually, becoming accustomed somehow to the pressure on my nipples and the plug in my ass. It's even a little tempting to stay exactly where I am, and not risk walking any further.

But suddenly my mouth is full of cum, with more on my cheeks, and I'm coughing and spluttering, cum running down my chin and dripping onto my shirt.

Jumping to my feet, I scream, "What the fuck do you want from me?" Of course there's no answer, so I drop my backpack and strip out of my shirt; and let my jeans fall, stepping out of them. I no longer care about all the startled passersby who stare warily at me, a naked girl screaming at the air. "Is this what you want? Then take it!"

I bend over with my legs parted, and before I can count to ten, there's a throbbing soreness in my cunt, as if I've just been properly fucked, and a tickling as cum leaks from my pussy.

Of my shirt and jeans, there is no sign. "Fuck," I sigh wearily. "Literally fucked."

Removing the clamps from my nipples and pulling the glass buttplug from my ass, discarding both immediately, I pick up my bag and set my aim for home. Who knows, I may even get there.

This is already the most fucked up day of my life, and it's not even lunchtime.