Jinxed!

Tasha got dressed, and packed an extra blouse and skirt in her backpack.

She took a long look at herself in the mirror. The bustier was making her tits look even bigger than normal, but the blouse was handling it well enough. Skirt looked okay, and her stockings were straight. At least there would be other attractive young girls there to take some of the attention off of her.

Tasha threw on her black pumps, a long overcoat, a hat, and sunglasses. She was almost completely concealed, although she looked like some paparazzi phobic celebrity. At least it would shield from lusty gazes, and keep anyone from recognizing her from this morning.

She set out from her apartment timidly. She had no money for a cab or even the subway so she was hoofing it. So far so good. She got a few funny looks for wearing such a heavy coat in 70 degree weather, but her clothes were staying in place. This was the easy part. When she got to work, she had to take the coat off. And that's when things could get tricky.

Amazingly enough, she made it all the way across town to Munich without incident. She got there a little early, hoping to do most of her setup work before most of the cooks and other waiters got there. She stashed her coat and bag in the coat room.

After a brisk walk in a heavy coat, Tasha felt all sweaty and gross. She snuck into the walk-in refrigerator to cool off. The cooks loved to send the waitresses in here, because it made their nipple harden and poke at their blouses. Luckily the stiff cups of her bustier prevented her tightened nipples from humiliating her.

Feeling refreshed, Tasha was ready to take on her setup duties. Her task was to lightly oil the handmade wooden tables in her section. Simple, right?

The only person in the kitchen was Manny, a shy young teenager who couldn't speak a word of English. Manny earned himself a reputation among the waitress for trying to peek down their blouses when they were bending over. Still, he seemed nice enough, and never made any kind of advance. Tasha waved hello and reached up for the restaurant-size can of oil on the top shelf.

Maybe someone didn't put the cap on right, or got oil on the outside of the can, or maybe it was just some gypsy curse. All Tasha knew was that damn jug slipped right out of her fingers, tumbling in the air in slow motion. She quickly caught it, clutching it to her chest - upside down!

Tasha screamed in shock at this slick sensation of the cool oil splashing against her neck and chest. The glugging sound of oil pouring made her heart sink. The next of the can found its way into her open collar, and the oil was pouring right into her cleavage, making a funnel of her tits. She could feel it creeping down the bustier, into her skirt and panties, even down her thighs.

She quickly dropped the can, but it was far too late. Thick streaks of oil ran down her stockinged legs, raining onto the tile kitchen floor. Manny just stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck. The growing pool of oil between her feet caused Tasha to slip wildly. She tried to steady herself, but the floor was like ice, and she quickly collapsed to the floor.

Tasha's blouse had become transparent and painted to her skin. She was torn between covering herself and trying to get back on her feet. Her feet and hands couldn't find a hold on the floor. After what seemed like hours, Manny snapped out of his horny gaze and helped her up. Still unsteady on her oily pumps, Tasha grabbed her bag and ran to the employee washroom.

The blouse was ruined, the front was almost invisible. The skirt wasn't much better. Work hadn't even officially started, and already had to use her spare skirt and blouse. Tasha stripped down in a hurry. The other servers would be coming in soon, and there was just the one bathroom.

Oil was literally pooled in the valley between her breasts. It slowly oozed down, forming a slick membrane between her skin and the corset. The stream of oil trickled into her panties, saturating them. If this hadn't been such a traumatic day, the sensation of wet slippery panties between her legs would almost be pleasant and arousing.

Her stockings were streaked with oil, and she had no spares. Tasha decided to do something radical- she rubbed her oily blouse up and down her legs. It evened out the streaks completely, and the feeling of her oiled legs brushing against each other was rather nice.

Tasha used some paper towels to mop up as much of the excess oil as possible. She didn't have time to remove her corset, and unfortunately, that seemed to be where most of the oil had ended up. She cleaned up as much as she could and dressed in the fresh blouse and skirt. Luckily none of the oil landed in her hair or make up, but a couple of small glob of oil hit her glasses. The crappy soup in the washroom was no match for it, and no matter how hard she scrubbed them, there seemed to be a light film over the lenses. Nevertheless, she finished dressing- everything looked fine. Luckily the black lingerie and skirt hid the color, but they couldn't hide the slippery sensation of oil all down her body.

"Curse, my ass!" she said, proud of her quick recovery.

Perhaps the curse heard her, or perhaps the smudges on her glasses kept her from noticing the condition of her fresh blouse. The corset had soaked up a tremendous amount of oil, more that a quick once-over with cheap paper towels could hope to remove. Now that oil was slowly soaking her new blouse, rendering it transparent and sticking it right to her body.

Tasha tied on her small black apron and headed back to her tasks. She heard acidic shouting from the kitchen - Estelle was in.

Estelle was the self-appointed manager of Munich. In reality, she was the trophy wife of the owner, and once a fairly famous NY fashion model. A little plastic surgery and a lot of Pilates kept her in shape, although the years had definitely padded out her boobs and ass.

Between her supermodel attitude and her statuesque 6 foot 2 frame, Estelle was a very intimidating woman. She couldn't give a shit about the food, but she was obsessed with how the servers looked. The whole stockings thing was especially important. She'd been known to yank the skirt up on any negligent waitress who didn't keep her seams straight, and straightened them out herself. Perhaps a direct technique from her modeling days, or perhaps she just enjoyed humiliating young women in front of the rest of the staff.

"Dammit, what a terrible day for that bitch to be on the warpath!" Tasha took a moment to make sure her stockings looked perfect. The looked okay, but the oil made them feel wet and weird. They would probably slip and twist as the night went on - Tasha would be wise to keep an eye on them.

She took a deep breath, and hoped that the fates would be gentle on her...

Prof. Raleigh was soaking up his celebrity among his perverted compatriots. Prof. Tanaka and Dr. Spunkmeyer had heard the rumors around campus of the demure coed losing her clothes in Raleigh's class, and again on the street. Images had been e-mailed back and forth, Raleigh had recounted his testimony again and again for them in the most minute detail.

The three of them had formed an unofficial club of perversion, dedicated to voyeurism in a college bursting with luscious young women.

Prof. Tanaka gave up a very lucrative position in his home of Japan to come teach in the states. He is a die-hard breast man, and Tokyo is a terrible place to be one. At least in America he is surrounded by curvaceous, well-endowed young women.

He gave tests and quizzes with incredible frequency so that he could look over the shoulders of his more ample students on the pretense of watching for cheating, but really so he could stare down their tops. He was also known to "accidentally" brush against the chests of some women. Rumor has it Tanaka left Japan after allegations that he was accidentally brush against a diplomat's wife at a formal dinner.

Dr. Spunkmeyer was a legend among academic perverts. Although almost 70, he used his age as leverage to get attractive women to assist him, and thereby cop a feel.

Despite his age, the good doctor was a master of electronics. He walked with a cane (which he didn't need) which was mounted with a pinhole camera. He had even developed a small electromagnet about the size of a joy buzzer that, when properly used, could draw down zippers and unhook bras from a foot away. He truly was the James Bond of dirty old men.

Prof. Raleigh had retrieved Tasha's cell phone from the Goth tramp just a short while ago, and was very pleasantly surprised to see the Goth had snapped a picture of Tasha's ordeal, and made it the wallpaper. It was a beautiful shot. Her body twisted, serpentine, caught between cowering for modesty and running for escape. He skirt, hoisted well over her full round ass. He blouse burst open, her breast bouncing wildly in her mad flight. Her eyes wide, her lips and cheeks rosy with humiliation.

Spunkmeyer was already printing more photos off the internet, creating a sexy documentary of the whole miraculous event. Still, nothing compared with Raleigh's first-hand account.

Tanaka and Spunkmeyer were well-familiar with the infamous Tasha, having seen her nigh-perfect body gliding across campus. Infamous, because before today, Tasha seemed to have an uncanny ability to thwart their every effort at perversion. She crossed her legs with vise-like strength, obscuring even the slightest view of her panties. She used her books and backpack as coverage for her perfect breasts, preventing even the slightest peek at her cleavage. It was like Tasha knew these guys were world-class perverts, and knew every way to stymie them.

The he pulled out the show-stopper- the tattered panties. He laid them out on the desk in his office as if it was the shroud of Turin. An hourglass of delicate translucent fabric, savagely ripped at its thin lacy waistband.

This was a moment of unparalleled triumph, perhaps the greatest Raleigh had even known since her first peeped up his grade school teacher's skirt so many years ago. His peers were in awe of him, and strove to bask in his glory and good fortune.

Even that curmudgeon Spunkmeyer was swept up in it. He pulled up her student records on his laptop, and his eyes lit up with mischief.

"My compatriots, it seems Miss Tasha has been earning her way through college by waitressing," he mused. "Perhaps we should pay her restaurant a visit tonight?"

Tasha had been at work for just under an hour now, and Munich was officially open for the evening. In that short time, she had more than a few ill omens that coming here tonight may have been a mistake.

It didn't take long for her to discover her oil-soaked corset was making her blouse translucent. In addition to that, the slippery corset and the natural motion of her full hips were causing the corset to slide up her body, hefting her breasts out and giving her glistening cleavage worthy of a trashy novel cover.

The added attention to her tits among her coworkers assured, thanks to her curse, that her blouse was coming unbuttoned any time eyes were on it. Thankfully the buttons were still intact, but that terrible mix of butterflies in the stomach and burning humiliation was returning.

She didn't realize before just how much oil had seeped down her tummy and into her panties. They were slick with it, shifting and sliding across her ass and... other places. Under other circumstances, Tasha may have even enjoyed the sensual gliding of oily panties across her most intimate place, gently teasing her. Now, it just added to her humiliation. People would think she was a slut or something- she didn't need to go and prove them right.

Her skirt was misbehaving too. Riding up, getting snagged on her suspenders or caught up in her apron. In a restaurant, with all this moving around and bending over, it wasn't unusual for the girls to sometimes show a little more leg than they intended, and for the boys to tease them about it. But tonight Tasha was extra sensitive about it, and her demure shyness just seemed to egg the men on.

Tasha realized it was only a matter of time before something happened. He blouse explodes, her skirt falls off. Something. And she would be naked and humiliated in front of all her coworkers and a whole restaurant full of strangers. The anticipation was almost worse than the actual embarrassment.

Estelle hollered her name. Tasha yanked her skirt down reflexively. "Tasha, sweetheart, you've got a table- move it!"

Tasha crossed the restaurant to her section, trying to ignore the thick squishing of her panties with every step. The slippery little devils were sliding right between her cheeks, too- the beginning of quite an annoying wedgie. Then she saw who her first customers were...

Tasha's heart sank into dread inversely to the way Raleigh's, Tanaka's and Spunkmeyer's lit up with delight.

Raleigh, of course, she knew. Her sleazy professor was perhaps her most humiliating witness to Tasha ordeal this afternoon. This smarmy old bastard hard more intimate knowledge of Tasha's young body than the most adept and charming frat boys. His unwelcome eyes on here know made her even more acutely aware of her slithering panties.

She's never had a class with Prof. Tanaka, but this would not be the first time she could feel his burning gaze fixed on her full chest. He had a knack for "crossing paths" with Tasha all around campus, especially cramped places where he might "accidentally" brush against her tits. Small coffee shops, the gym, the library. And of course, he now had his dirty eyes fixed on her cleavage now, served up in her overly ambitious bustier, blossoming out of a blouse that won't stay closed.

Spunkmeyer, the old man, she didn't recognize. He looked sweet enough, but judging by the sleazy company he keeps, he must be one dirty old man.

"Ah, Miss Tasha! One of my most prized pupils," Prof Raleigh sang. His companions snickered knowingly.

"Hello, Professor..." Tasha murmured, eyes lowered. She rubbed her thighs together nervously, perhaps to distract herself, and perhaps subconsciously, she was captivated by their oily slickness. It was also causing her panties to ride higher and higher into her well-lubricated private places. Tasha, however was too preoccupied with the certainty that, unless she did something, she would certain end up naked and humiliated in front of these horrid old men.

Tasha took their drink orders and turned to leave.

"Miss Tasha, one moment! I have something you lost today" Raleigh said. Her blood ran cold- she had lost quite a few things that day, her modesty not being the least.

He placed her cell phone on the table. She couldn't help but give him a sheepish smile as she recovered her phone. It wasn't his fault all these bad things were happening to her, right? At least he was doing the nice thing by returning her phone, and she gladly picked it up.

"What?" The only word to escape her lips. The dirty old bastard had put some kind of nudie porn picture on her phone! Some trashy slut with her skirt hiked up and her fat tits hanging out, her face flushed with lust. Tasha spun around, ready to blast the filthy professor for his behavior, until something in that dirty photo struck her as... familiar.

The skirt... the blouse... the girl in the photo is herself! She'd never seen herself in such a heated, humiliated display, and by now, half the city- no, half the world had! The electrified tingling in the pit of her belly returned. Like this afternoon, but even stronger.

"My god..." He knees buckled in embarrassment.

"You're making me a believer, Miss Tasha." Raleigh grinned smugly.

Tasha slipped her phone into her apron. She felt like every eye in the restaurant was mentally undressing her, especially the three pairs around her right now.

She rushed away with their drink orders, nervously tugging at her blouse and skirt to safeguard what little was left of her modesty. There was no way Tasha could handle another ordeal by herself - she needed backup.

Today was far and away the most sexually exciting day in Jo's young life. On the one hand, she was very proud of herself for protecting her friend through such a... humiliating experience. On the other, she could kick herself for not taking advantage of that nude goddess, driven to heat and nearly nude.

Jo was currently expressing that frustration alone in her bedroom, bent over her dresser. Naked except for some periwinkle blue cotton panties. One hand was furiously at work inside those panties. The other held the tattered remains of her green gym shorts up to her nose...

In her mind, Jo ran and reran that movie over and over again, of the goddess Tasha, so chaste and pure, today trying to pleasure herself against her own will on a crowded New York City sidewalk, using the gym shorts now pressed to Jo's face.

She could feel an orgasm building, and fast. It was well deserved, too. Jo resisted the urge to pleasure herself right there in Tasha's apartment as her exhausted crush slept off her humiliating day.

Her cell phone rang. Jo would have ignored it, but Tasha's name was on the ID.

"Hello?" She tried to not sound breathless.

"Jo, it's me, Tasha." She sounded timid.

"Are you okay"

"Jo, it's happening again."

"What is?" Jo knew damn well what was happening, but she wanted to hear Tasha describe it.

"That curse... I spilled oil on myself. Now my blouse is see-through. And the oil is in my panties, and they're slipping around. And these old men keep leering at me. And this stupid curse, it's making me... making me..."

"Making you...?"

"...horny" Tasha whispered. "I can't sop it and its driving me CRAZY."

"Where are you?"

"Work."

"I'm on my way."

Jo threw on a long white linen skirt and a pink tank top. She would not miss this show for the world.

Tasha felt some relief that Jo was coming to help see her through this. She gathered up the old bastards' drinks and brought them over.

Those old men probed every inch of her with their perverted eyes. Her translucent blouse, doing little to hide her exotic corset or ample bust. Her black skirt, riding ever-higher over her full hips and round bottom.

With one hand carrying the tray, and the other passing out drinks, she could not adjust her blouse or skirt, leaving her at the mercy of the men and the curse. Her stocking tops peeking into view made her nervous and anxious. She rushed to hand Raleigh her drink, and nearly lost her balance, and the top button of her blouse.

"Careful, deary!" Spunkmeyer was quick to steady her with a hand around her waist. In truth, he was looking for a chance to apply specially designed electromagnet. It was wired into a simple leather glove, and could unhook a woman's bra in a fraction of second. Spunkmeyer was especially adroit with it, although he had never attempted anything as ambitious as a full corset.

Tasha felt the nasty old man's hand across her back, and the slight tug around her midsection, but she had no clue that half the hooks of her elaborate corset had just come undone. Nor that she had lost a button, her blouse now showing the lacy edges of each bra cup, as well as a dangerous amount of cleavage.

Tasha noticed her corset was fitting a bit more comfortably. Her breasts had settled down to a more natural height.

The three men barraged her with questions about the entrees, the appetizers, the salads, the wines, everything and anything on the menu. Tasha did her best to answer them, but it was quite clear men were stalling, keeping her around to enjoying her impending misfortune.

She rubbed her slick thighs together anxiously. She couldn't wait to be away from these horrid men, and she was aware that even though they were repellant, their lecherous gazes were driving her to a fever. What she was NOT aware of was Spunkmeyer's pinhole camera between her knees, or its live feed to the laptop in front of Raleigh.