Sugargirlx2 sits across from him at the trendy restaurant, feeling confident in her outfit—sheer black blouse draped just enough to show off the lace pattern of her bra underneath, black schoolgirl skirt swishing against her thighs with every shift of her legs. She spent an hour on her makeup, her hair, picking the perfect heels. And he's... scrolling. Again.

She clears her throat. "So, you said you work in..."

"Tech," he mumbles, not looking up. Thumb flicking. Face bathed in blue light. Their drinks arrive—he doesn't notice. The apps come—he pokes at one with his free hand while typing with the other. She tries crossing and uncrossing her legs, leaning forward to give him a better view of what she's offering. Nothing. Just the soft tap tap tap of his screen.

She's about to suggest they just get the check when she feels it—a draft. A sudden coolness across her chest. She looks down. Her sheer blouse is gone. Just... gone. She's sitting in a crowded restaurant in nothing but her black lace bra, the one she picked to tease, now exposed completely without the veil of fabric.

Her eyes widen. She crosses her arms over her chest, hunching forward. "What the—" She looks around. No one seems to have noticed yet. Her mesh shirt isn't on the floor. Not on the chair. Just vanished. She looks up at him. He's still typing, but now... now he's smirking. Looking up at her. Then back to his phone. Tap tap.

Her stomach drops. "Do you... is that an app?" she whispers, leaning forward, arms still clamped over her bra. He doesn't answer. Just that smug little smile.

She reaches for her water with a shaking hand, trying to play it cool, trying to figure out if she can cover herself with the napkin, when she feels the waistband of her skirt loosen. She grabs for it—too late. The skirt disappears from around her hips, leaving her in just her bra and panties, exposed to the entire dining room. She gasps, ducking down, her face burning crimson. "Stop it," she hisses at him. "Stop."

He's looking up now. Fully engaged for the first time all night. Watching her squirm. Tap.

The bra loosens. She feels the clasp release, the straps sliding down her shoulders. She catches it with one arm, but she's exposed—the cups gaping, her breast peeking over the lace as she fights to hold it together. "Please," she whimpers, mortified, aware of the waiter walking past, of the couple at the next table glancing over. "Not here. Please."

Tap.

The bra vanishes from her grip. She's topless in the restaurant, hands flying to cover her chest, palms pressed flat, nipples peeking between her fingers. She's breathing hard, eyes wet with humiliation, looking around wildly. People are noticing now. Whispers. A pointed finger from the bar.

She stands up, one arm across her breasts, the other hand reaching for her chair to hide her lower half, when she feels the last piece go—her panties. Just gone. She's completely naked in the middle of a restaurant, surrounded by strangers, her date finally looking at her with satisfaction while she stands there frozen, bare, exposed.

The gasps hit her ears. Someone laughs. She doesn't think—she runs. Arms covering what she can, heels clacking on the tile, bare ass flashing as she bolts past the host stand, past the line of waiting customers, out the front door into the night. The cool air hits every inch of her naked skin.

She doesn't stop until she's around the corner, pressed against a brick wall, chest heaving, still burning with shame. She pulls out her phone with a shaking hand, flipping the camera to face herself—hair messy, mascara running slightly, completely nude in a public alley. She hits record.

"Okay," she breathes, voice trembling, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one's coming. "So... I just had the worst date of my life. Like, subscribe, and I'll tell you how I ended up naked on a Tuesday..." She glances down at herself, laughs a hysterical, embarrassed little laugh, and keeps recording.