The Wonderbolts all jumped from the plane in synchronization, joining in formation as they began the long free-fall toward the ground miles below. This performance ranked among the top five in size out of all the shows that the team had done in the past, and they had accordingly arranged one of their most daring and breathtaking sets of stunts yet. They performed flips, spins, gracefully twirled each other around, and many other death-defying moves that one could only imagine took countless hours of practice.
After a couple minutes of free-fall, they broke formation and started putting distance between each other to avoid getting their parachutes snagged upon those of their teammates when they were deployed.
Unfortunately for the Wonderbolts’ captain, Spitfire, when she grasped for the cord that would spring the chute, she also took a tiny bit of her jumpsuit in her fingers. And when she gave the cord a firm tug, she also took that little bit of the suit with her, tearing a tiny part of the fabric from her midsection.
The Wonderbolts typically wore minimal undergarments during shows, donning no more than necessary to keep their forms as slim as possible. For this show, Spitfire had bravely chosen to wear nothing at all under her suit, foregoing even her bra and panties. It had been an awkward scene in the locker rooms when the other women had noticed Spitfire au naturale, changing into her suit, but they had stayed quiet. Their captain knew best, right?
Right.
When Spitfire’s chute deployed, the force of her deceleration and the contorting of her body managed to cause the small tear in her suit to enlarge. As Spitfire took up an airborne standing position, the tear enlarged so much that, even at her slowed speed of descent, the wind continued slipping under the fabric and taking bits of her uniform from her. The tear continued gradually increasing in size as she coasted toward the ground: It ripped up her midsection, between her breasts, exposing the skin there. The pressure of the fabric over Spitfire’s breasts – which, in addition to being quite sizable, were being squeezed together by the straps of her parachute – caused it to rip outward, creating a large amount of cleavage.
All the while this went unnoticed by Spitfire, distracted as she was by steering herself around and toward the stadium below where she was to land. Meanwhile, the large window in her suit creeped to her nipples, soon exposing them, too. Now, having rounded the tips of the mounds that were the woman’s breasts, the fabric on the outer sides tore off completely, suddenly leaving her boobs bare in the wind, and being squished sensually by the straps of her parachute.
Spitfire was roughly forty stories from the ground when she fully realized this fact. Oh, crap! she thought. Try as she might, there was nothing she could do to stop the suit from going to pieces, for she was forced to keep her hands grasped tightly on her parachute's guiding cords to keep herself from flying out of control. Her heart rate quickly began to rise as she fully realized how plainly her ample assets were being advertised, pushed together by the straps to inadvertently create a highly erotic sight.
Oh, crap! Shit! ...Crap!
But her suit didn’t stop there. It simply kept on coming apart.... It ripped down her belly now, eventually reaching her crotch. Spitfire cringed as she felt the places where the suit no longer covered her up by the wind massaging them. It seemed to rip painfully slow, drawing out the horrifying sensation of her body being uncovered against her will. Her heart rate shot up as she felt that her vagina was being exposed – No, fuck, don’t do that! Fuckin'–! Her hand went to her crotch to cover it up, but her jerky movement only made the suit rip even more.
And now, split completely in half right down the middle, with nothing to keep it together, the jumpsuit finally fell to pieces in earnest. Oh, fuckin’ shit! Spitfire was really starting to panic now. What could she do? She was completely at the mercy of the suit, which was being thoroughly merciless as it left her body more and more naked. Everything around her waist and crotch was gone – she could feel the wind flowing along her the crack between her buttocks.
Thirty stories now, and before Spitfire knew it, there was hardly anything left of her jumpsuit. She tried desperately to use one hand to hold onto the last scraps of the tights, only to find that they were almost completely gone. Only a few tiny pieces remained, nothing that could be used to hide her intimate parts. The straps of her parachute held tightly to her body, the ones wrapped around her chest squeezing her breasts and making them bulge uncontrollably. Only her gloves and boots remained, being the only parts of the suit that weren't built in – This fact only made her look more naked, highlighting her female parts ridiculously.
Twenty stories. Spitfire could feel the massive stadium’s crowd's eyes on no-one but her. She blushed furiously and her heart rate increased tenfold. Shitfuck, shitfuck, shitfuck! She started to hyperventilate; she was so utterly naked, so utterly exposed, floating in the middle of a million eyes’ sight with absolutely nowhere to hide and no way to cover up. She felt a sickening horror at how helpless she was, suspended mid-air, on plain, gloriously nude display for the thousands watching – and then even more thousands doubtlessly watching the spectacle on television.
Ten stories. She had no choice but to float around the stadium and land in that huge, open field, all her shapely intimate parts simply out there for all to see.
Thirty feet... twenty... ten... and Spitfire finally landed. But she was so distressed at this point that she stumbled, landing in an awkward somersault that turned into a roll over the cool grass – “Ow, shit!” she yelled. She could feel her boobs bouncing around as she tumbled.
Her last hope had been to hide under the parachute, letting it consume her until... well, she supposed someone would have to bring her clothes, or something. Anything, anything would be better than being there in the middle of a field of spectators without any way of covering up. Tragically for Spitfire, however, her impromptu somersault and roll had caused the cables that connected her straps to the parachute to completely entangle her, while the chute itself sailed off some ten meters from her. She now found herself, still naked, still completely vulnerable with all her private parts exposed for the world to see, bound tightly in the cables in the middle of the largest stadium in Manehattan. “Oh no, oh fucking shit!” she cried, squirming around in her bonds. "Ah, oh!" she gasped as she felt one cord had gotten inexplicably stuck between her legs, and was now painfully wedged inside her vulva’s lips, its rough material rubbing into the soft skin.
As Spitfire struggled frantically to disentangle herself, she could hear uproarious noise from the crowd, but she didn't take the time to figure out what kind of reception she was getting. She squirmed and wriggled, her cheeks burning with blush as her movement caused the cable in her genitals to rub back and forth in a way that was disturbingly sensual. “Ow, oh, fuck!” she cursed at the uncomfortably erotic feeling. “Oh, God, that feels– fuck, that feels– good! Shit, oh, shit, shit! Why the fuck isn't anyone helping me?!”
She continued to squirm around as countless eyes watched her being sexually abused by bad luck. After what felt like hours, though it was really only a minute or so – Still way, way too Goddamn long! she thought helplessly – Spitfire freed herself with a pained exclamation. The only chord left was the one jammed into her vagina; She grabbed it, yanking it from the lips and finding that it was covered in a small amount of white fluid. She stumbled to her feet, too panicked to think of the implications of the white substance, and began to run for the nearest stadium exit she could see.
However, after only a few steps, something seemed to grab her from behind, making her trip and fall to the ground. The woman nearly face-planted, but her breasts served as cushions for her fall. She got to her knees and looked around frantically to see the cables of her accursed parachute still attached to the straps around her body – She had forgotten about them.
“Oh, shitshitshit – Fuck!” she gasped, out of breath. Because of her panic, it ended up taking three times as long as it would normally would for Spitfire to detach the parachute. As she knelt there, the crowd had an unobstructed view of the very beautiful, very exposed woman, her ample breasts, shaved snatch, and rounded buttocks framed by the straps. Spitfire finally managed to detach herself from the chute's grasp and quickly stood up again, her boobs rising and falling with her strained breaths, and ran desperately for the stadium exit. She caught brief glimpses of the other Wonderbolts, male and female, all staring at her as her as she went by. They had good reason, for the sight of the healthy, nude woman running at such a pace was a sight to behold, her large boobs bouncing up and down gloriously with her movement.
For Spitfire, the run from the center of the stadium to the shadow of the exit seemed to be the longest sprint of her life, but she made it.
Okay, she thought, now I need to get to the changing room and– Bright lights flashed before her eyes, blinding her, making her raise a hand to her eyes. It took a moment for her to make the connection: Camera flashes....
“No no no! No, fuck, oh, no!” she cried.
The media. All of it. Countless photographs and video being taken of her gloriously displayed body, none with her consent. As the lights flared endlessly, she realized with a sinking heart that never in her entire life would anyone forget about this disastrous day, when the Captain of the Wonderbolts, renowned sports athlete, and respected celebrity, was witnessed naked, her face red, her boobs bulging out, her vulnerable vulva up for show, by the entire world....
“No!” she whimpered helplessly. “Anything but this! No, no, no!” Spitfire vaguely tried to hide her privates by putting an arm around her breasts while putting a hand over her crotch. She stumbled backward, turning around confusedly, not knowing where she would go – the stadium was behind, the press was ahead.
Her literal and figurative downfall came in the form of a dropped water bottle: Her foot rolled on it, sending her toppling forward onto all fours. Defeated, she huddled up with her arms over her face. At this point, she had given up.
... Until she realized that the redoubled camera flashes were due to the fact that she was inadvertently opening her buttocks to the crowd, showing off the underside of her genitals and giving an unobstructed view of her anus spread wide.
Spitfire fainted from shock and exhaustion right then and there. Goodness knows what happened after that.
Author's Note
This stupid, perverted little story was “inspired” by Kloudmutt’s drawing, Nudefire, which in turn was commissioned by Phallen1. So thanks to them, or something, for prompting me to write about a hot (ha) woman being inexplicably stripped down to nothing in the middle of a sports stadium.
...
Ya know, this is really even more perverted than normal clopfics. It's more than a little morbid, disrespectful, and outright misogynistic. What am I doing with my life?
And no, I do not think women are objects to be disrespected, like in this story. Be gentlemen, guys! And be... gentlelesbians, girls...
Seriously though, look at how those boobs are squashed together. And that vagina just hangin’ out, ready for the [REDACTED]. How can one leave simply leave that alone?
Stay classy,
~Nordlen
