Isabella was fumbling as Sam, and his crew of boys, walked into the dimly lit bar. It was two towns over, several of them had already been drinking, not to mention gawking at the tiny and barely there outfit Sam had dressed her in -- or more like forced her in. Although, even if she wouldn’t admit it, she did put it on, like it was some sort of duty she would proudly fill for him. It was a tiny black dress, it molded to her every curve on her body. The back was non-existent, but strings of chain swooping from one end to the other, all the way down to her ass; so it peaked out from the silver chains roping across it. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so her nipples, with the slightest chill or brush of wind, showed through. Big, bouncy, and with a dress so tight and thin, it looked like they were meerly painted over. She felt nervous, trying to brush her dress down every so slightly, but when they walked in she stopped, and raised her head high as they walked to the door. Her hands tightened around Sam’s grip a little tighter, hoping the boys stayed close so her nearly open ass and back weren’t on display, to the bar that wasn’t packed to the brim, but there was several others around. “Sam, can’t I wear your jacket or something,” she leaned up to whisper into his hear. A hand brushed her shoulder shyly, then whisking away one of the few hairs that fallen out of the top bun sitting on her head. Her face was only masked with light make up, and hair up, so the outfit stole the show, but still, her face was angelic, beautiful, and if you just looked at it, you wouldn’t dare think such a sinful dress, and body was attached to it.