The Dress in the Window

The redbud trees are fully flaunting their flowers as we hurry along the busy sidewalk. The skyscrapers cast shadows on the downtown streets. Patches of the late morning spring sunshine still manage to peek through. The air is crisp and clean after an early storm; the street is pocked with puddles. The pathway is cluttered with little moppet dogs, ladies in yoga clothes, men sporting jeans with ties, scooters, bikes, and even metallic moving robot boxes making food deliveries.  

But we have an exciting mission and I am practically sprinting single-mindedly to our destination, my taller companion having to work to keep up.  

In the window is a cream-colored dress with a sparse green pattern of palm fronds. As we get closer, I can see it is made of chiffon. I hadn't been able to discern all the details when I'd driven by the other day, but the shape caught my eye. The sleeves were long and flowy but came to a neat cuff at the wrist. A cloth belt cinched the waist, below which the skirt hung loose on the mannequin, but on me it would sway and cling to my hips and full round ass.

I'm not much of a shopper but it would be a perfect dress for spring, and I could tell even from a distant glance it was my style. Some lucky guy was going to be the first to see it on me.  

And off me, too.  

We enter the shop and are greeted by a cheery salesperson in a tan dress suit with a shiny white belt and matching low-heeled sandals. Their muscular shoulders and biceps spill out of the wide straps but their frame is petite and slim. Their face is tastefully painted with makeup, highlighting their dark almond eyes. A long bob of brown hair is sprinkled with wisps of gray at the perfectly straight part down the middle of the crown of their head. I feel a little underdone, wondering if they notice my naked face and hair pulled tight into a ponytail, but they introduce themselves as Kat with a genuine friendly smile and call me "Honey." I lead them straight to the dress and they gush, with the hint of a lisp, that it is so "me". I ask to try it in a 6 and an 8. I don't know how they size women's clothes or why there's rarely odd numbers, but I'd usually be a 7 if it existed. I should ask Kat, they would probably know, but I am too excited. They return with two dresses and ask me to follow them to the back of the small shop. I take the hand of my companion and tug him along with me.  

Kat swishes a cloth curtain to the side and hangs the dresses on a hook opposite the mirror that covers the entire right wall of the dressing room. She doesn't seem affected by the fact that I drag my friend in with me, and shut the curtain behind both of us.  

The back wall of the tiny room is a bench. I sit down and point to the floor. The submissive knows his place and kneels in front of me. He is rewarded with my feet on his lap.  

I playfully push the heel of my boot into his crotch. He winces while still grinning and I dig a little deeper. "You're here to help. Take off my boots." 

I've chosen the one pair of boots that I own that are fully lace-up, no zipper on the side to cheat. He has to undo the strings from each level of speed hooks, which he does with anything but speed.   When my foot is finally free, I lift my other foot from the bulge in his pants and drop it into his waiting hands. I am able to enjoy feeling his dick with the foot that is now just wearing a sock.  

I knead into him, but tell him to stay on task. He pulls the other boot off with a sigh, gently bending forward to kiss my covered toes. But I remind him we're here to try on a dress, not worship my feet. "Yes, Señora." He looks at me, "You can't blame a guy for trying."

I chuckle. "There will be time for that later and you know it."

He removes my socks. I honestly could try on the dress without taking off my boots and socks but I want to see how it looks on me without *anything* else. I stand and turn my back to him and gesture for him to help me with the zipper on the green dress I'm wearing now. It fits my form perfectly. Ruffles adorn the left side in the front, falling in a cascade from the thin strap across my shoulder to the hemline just below my knee. The right side is flat, sculpted over my breast, tight against my waist and hips.  

It is a good dress for early March, and for me.  

He helps me lift it over my head. Underneath, I'm wearing nothing.  

In the mirror I can see him adjust his cock. He sees me looking at his reflection and I am happy to see his face turn pink.  

"What are you waiting for? Let's try on the 6 first." 

He remembers he's here to assist me and lifts one of the dresses off the hook, fishing around to find the tag with the size printed on it. He then removes it from the hanger and looks at me a little helplessly.  

"First the arms." I turn toward him and he can't resist staring at my chest. I help find the hole where my arm needs to go and he manages to help more than impede, mostly.  

When my arms are in place he bunches up the material and pulls the rest of the garment over my head. His hand brushes across my skin as he coaxes it down over my breasts and my hips. The feeling sends little shocks of electricity to my pussy. I don't let on that I'm turned on by his touch, though. I just instruct him to button the cuffs and the back of the neck. I ask him to kneel before me to tie the belt.  

He stays on his knees as I spin slowly, admiring how the dress looks on me. I was right. It's my style.  

And the 6 is perfect. "Keto has been doing its job again," I think happily, "although I miss bagels."

But giving up bread for a while is worth seeing the look on his face.  

"You look stunning, Señora." 

I finish spinning around and stand before him again. I'm feeling beautiful, and naughty.  

"Would you like to show me your appreciation?" 

He grins. He looks gorgeous there on his knees in the tiny dressing room, his eyes wide and face flushed, but I'm about to make him disappear from my view.  

I lift the skirt of the dress. "Show me."

I step toward him and pull his head into me, tilting my pelvis to make the lips of my pussy slightly more accessible. I feel his warm tongue find my clit. I let go of the dress and he is cloaked in a muffled darkness, ingesting the taste and smell of my arousal.  

I lightly rest my hands on his head through the soft material and close my eyes, savoring the moment. Pop music plays softly in the background. Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga are dying with a smile. Me, too.  

I'm lost in the moment, dizzy with emotion, letting pleasure wash over me.  

The last strums of the guitar and harmonized voices fade over the sound system. The brief silence brings me back to the present. I open my eyes and say, "I like how it looks with your head there. Too bad I can't wear it that way forever. That's all we can get away with, I think." 

But he grabs my ass with one hand and pushes his tongue into me harder while simultaneously slipping his finger inside me.  

"Stop!" I protest weakly, attempting to be authoritative and quiet at the same time. "We've already been in here too long." I try to contain my moans as he does that thing to the ridge that is my G-spot that makes me explode. I put my hand on the wall to steady myself, feeling the juices run down the inside of my legs. He laps them clean then emerges from under the dress with a smug smile.  

"I think it's a keeper. What do you think?" He wipes his mouth with his fingers and puts them to his nose to breathe in my scent again.  

I lower myself onto the bench unsteadily and watch him put my boots back on.  

When we walk out of the dressing room, I'm a little nervous that Kat will be staring accusingly at us, but they are sitting on a stool at the register completely absorbed in their phone. They look up as we approach and squeal with approval. "It was made for you!" The way their eyes twinkle show they're sincere, not just trying to make a sale.  

"You two seemed to have everything under control," they say as they walk behind me with a pair of scissors and gently hold my hair to the side as they clip the price tag from the dress. They beam their little red laser light on the barcode with their swipe gun. "Otherwise I would have offered a little more *personalized* service."

Their lisp trips over the word "personalized" so it comes out "perthonalized." My heart flutters at the adorableness of it, as do other parts of me that I think should be satisfied already.  

"Our summer collection will be launched in May." They look pointedly at me. "You should cum again for that." The way they roll their eyes on the word "cum" makes the color drain out of my face.  

They know.  

"Señora isn't much of a shopper," my companion says, handing them his credit card, clearly amused, "but I'll put it on my calendar to remind her."

Kat nods at him conspiratorily and offers a bag for my green dress. My companion leads me out carrying the bag.  

We walk in silence, me leaning on his arm, still reeling from the amazing, unexpected orgasm and the awkward thrill of thinking we'd been caught.  

When I've regained my composure, I ask, "Are we headed anywhere in particular?" noticing we've just been wandering the city streets. I add, "You can pick where we have lunch. My treat."

He arches his eyebrows. "Really?" There is doubt in his voice. He rarely lets me pay. "And to what do I owe that pleasure?"

When I'd first mentioned the dress to him, he'd jokingly said that he'd look better than me in it. I said we could have a contest and if he won, I'd buy him lunch.  

"You were right. You couldn't see from where I was, but you *definitely* looked better in the dress than I do."

He makes a surprised choking sound. He'd forgotten about his snarky remark.  

"Here's the thing. You don't have to believe me. But you get treated to lunch and then we repeat the contest, just to be sure you really deserved to win." 

He takes this in with a smile. "Either way, I feel like Señora wins." 

"I think we both win." 

"In that case, there's a new barbecue joint that opened up at Third and Guadalupe. Let's go there."

"Barbecue?" I say hesitantly.  

"It's keto..."

"Yeah, but you know I'm going to spill something on my new, cream-colored dress."

He stops, looks directly at me and without missing a beat, says, "You already did."

Then he does an about-face and scampers ahead of me, toward the restaurant. As I manage to put my dropped jaw back into place, I run to catch up and give him the smack in the ass that he most definitely deserves.