A young blonde girl run frantically through the trees, clearly in considerable distress as she sobbed and wailed that she needed what sounded like 'Cock'; but was far from clear. Sweat poured from her nubile body, as she was exhausted to the point of collapse. She stumbled into a tree, leaning heavily against it, trying and failing to capture her breath.
Her chest heaved remarkably, and was of such a size that it was a minor miracle that she had stayed upright for as long as she had - twin spheres of succulent flesh that bounced playfully with every laboured breath.
For they were unrestrained and completely bare. We could be charitable and say that she was rather underdressed. We could exaggerate only slightly and say that what she wore would struggle to upholster the inside of an egg cup. More specifically, it was an excruciatingly tight white bodysuit that was slashed to such an extent it was something of a miracle that it remained in one piece.
Once, the only piece missing was broadly in the shape of a dagger across her chest, the hilt making an artful cleavage, the blade sinking between her tips to her navel.
And that dagger had confidently declared her identity as the heroine known as dagger; 50% of the lethal partnership formed with her mentor and protector Cloak.
But Cloak had disappeared into thin air in most unfamiliar fashion, and somehow she knew that he would not be returning. Suddenly a powerful partnership of crimefighters had become a beautiful girl alone and frightened in the middle of a park full of criminals. She had never felt so alone.
And as Cloak disappeared, unbeknownst to the beautiful Dagger, her abilities were drastically reduced, leaving her vulnerable to whoever may come across her. So too her already racy costume adjusted itself without her knowledge or consent, the dagger of flesh becoming a hefty broadsword that left her dramatically enhanced (and similarly unnoticed) bouyant titties completely in the open, the tip of the sword diving deep enough to make sure her natural blond curls were rustled in the cold night air, and the fabric on her back parted dramatically to allow entirely open access to her buttocks.
The largest expanse of fabric were her arms, encased in gossamer material that did nothing to ward off the cold night air, but everything to draw attention to the nudity of her torso. Her thighs were bare, and what once had been practical boots had bow had their heels tripled in length, and extended rigidly above the knee to make running impossible. Somehow a variety of hefty drawing pins had found themselves embedded in their soles, making every step an agony.
But Dagger saw none of this. Instead she blindly flailed across the park, every step an agony, with little clue to a destination and even less of a direction, her shrunken mind leaving her genuinely a lost damsel in the woods. She stumbled repeatedly, awkward legs never seeming to quite propel her in the direction she wanted to go, and with no sense of direction crossed her own path multiple times to no positive effect other than completely exhausting herself.
Somehow every branch that she could run into she did, smacking her painfully across her face, jostling the heavy burden of her bosom, and slapping across her bare ass. Five times she managed to stumble directly onto huge mis-shapen tree roots that directly pierced her pussy; four times in awkwardly forcing herself off them she tumbled backwards to impale herself on phallic roots.
And so Dagger leaned heavily against yet another tree, clueless as to where she was or the depths of her predicament, pining for the 'Cloak' that could again make her life make sense.
And failed to hear footsteps behind her...
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