Changing Rooms

It's summer in Glasgow and unbearably hot. The sky is bright blue and the contrast against the brick red of the tenements opposite my bedroom window is forcing me to wear sunglasses in bed. I have a free day and plan to spend it shopping, maybe meeting friends for coffee or more probably a beer-garden pint of cider or two later on.

First I have to get into town. I need new underwear, having lost the stubborn fifteen pounds of weight that I habitually lose and gain every year, most of it seems to have gone from my breasts this time and I cannot run for a bus without spilling out of my cups.

The journey is uneventful. I take the underground, the 'clockwork orange' as it's apparently called. I have never heard a Glaswegian call it this, but it's a small orange train on a circular line. It's really far too warm and I'm wearing a short flouncy black skirt, Dr Marten's sandals, a black vest and sunglasses. My hair is tied back and bits of badly-dyed red fall lose over my face. They're sweaty and annoying. I'm wearing a thong underneath the skirt. It's far too hot and irritating for knickers today, but the thong is my concession. I don't really like to go commando in public. People stare at me enough without giving them even more reason. I'm close onto six foot tall, I hope it's not too breezy out, but the skirt is just above knee length and I *do* have a nice arse. My arms are bare and passers-by gawp at my tattooed arms. One and a half full sleeves, I'm very proud of my tattoos and live up to my 'bad-girl' image by innuendo and half-truths.

First stop and ultimate lingerie department - Fraser's of Glasgow. Air-conditioned. Palatial. Up the sweeping front stairs like I'm in 'Gone With the Wind' I browse the bras, pick up a few lacy numbers in greens and blues – being very pale skinned and brunette, I think they work better with my skin tones – not like anyone else is ever going to see them, anyway. I don't have to queue for the changing room and nod at the petite blonde who shows me to a curtained room with a small wicker chair and Pot Pourri on a shelf by the full-length mirror. Left to my own devices, I strip to the waist and stand for a moment by the rotating fan, lifting my arms above my head to dry the sweat; I turn and let the air hit my back. As I thought, none of the bras fit very well and I poke my head around the curtain to beckon the changing room assistant. She smiles and walks over lazily. I explain that I think I need a smaller cup size.

'Well, we better measure you up…put your bra back on and I'll get a tape measure.'

She returns with the tape measure and asks me to lift my arms. The tape encircles me and she asks what size I'm currently wearing,

'38DD'

'Hmmm. I make you a 36D, turn around.'

I do so. She pulls at the back of my bra,

'See…it's riding up at the back. Definitely a 36'. It's warm in the changing room but I shiver at her touch and turn around with a start. She doesn't move away, but glances down at my left breast. The bra I am wearing is sheer black and more or less completely see-through 'Do you only have one nipple pierced?' she asks. I nod. Unable to find my voice, I clear my throat,

'Ummm. Yes…' she reaches out a hand and looks me straight in the eye.

'How does it feel when someone takes your nipple in their mouth?'

'I…Ummm. ' I can hear my breath quickening as I try to reply, 'Ummm…good?' It's more of a question than a matter of fact. I've only had the nipple pierced for a number of months and haven't slept with anyone since. She moves her hand to the strap on my left shoulder and pulls it slowly down. She looks me in the eye and I nod almost imperceptibly. Her head lowers and she gently sucks at the nipple that she has freed. My hands move to her head and wind in her short dirty blonde spiked hair as she bites and releases, her hand working the other nipple. I think I might fall over. Her hands travel towards the waistband of my skirt and as I feel my cunt grow wetter, she gently propels me towards the chair. I sit gratefully, light-headed as she unbuttons her blouse and looks at me,

'I think the bra was too loose. Are your panties too tight?'

'They're wet. My pants are wet.'

She kneels between my legs and runs her hands from knee to thigh. The fan rotates and sends blasts of cold air across my nipples. Her head lowers to my knees and she starts to lick up my thighs. Just as she reaches the top of my inner thigh I remember that there is a full-length mirror in the room and we're reflected in the pastel tones of the changing room mirror. I can see her short blonde hair curling around the back of her neck. She has a small black tattoo at the small of her back, she wears no bra and her hand is between her own legs, rubbing at her clit as she starts to tongue me. I manage to look myself in the eye and grin before I rest my head back and look at the cracked artex ceiling. My hips rise involuntarily. I try to keep my knees far apart, so that she has an easier access. She uses her tongue well, it obviously isn't her first time in eating a woman. I wonder if she does this all the time…with the brides coming in for their wedding bustieres, the young women whose boyfriends wait outside the changing rooms? I stop thinking… all there is to think about is how her tongue feels lapping at my clit. Her free hand moves up and she starts to work a finger into my cunt. Two fingers, three…moving rhythmically, I'm almost about to come. I look up at my face in the mirror, flushed red, mouth open panting for air, I pull at my nipples and think that I see the curtain move, it must be the breeze from the fan…

'Miss Bonner!!!'

The man entering the changing room looks quite annoyed. I attempt to pull down my skirt and cover my breasts at the same time. I stand up and calculate that Stuart McDonald (he has a name badge!) is just over six foot two. He has dark hair, cut short, long sideburns. He would be better dressed in skate-kid clothes than the pinstriped suit that he wears in his day-job,

'Miss Bonner! You are already on a warning for your past behaviour. This will not look well in front of the management board.'

Miss Bonner pouts.

'I'm sorry. I'm very sorry Stuart…' She corrects herself, 'Mr McDonald, it's just…it's such a hot day and my job is so boring…' She glances at me, 'and the customer is so pretty…don't you agree?' He can't or won't look at me. I look at him and notice a perceptible bulge in his pinstriped pants. He notices me staring. Almost blushes. After all there are two partially naked women in the changing room. He glances at me quickly.

'Miss Bonner, did you fit this customer?' I stifle a giggle at the terrible double-entendre. Miss Bonner nods.

'Then you know her size?'

'Yes'

'And you know your size, obviously. Please dress and select an assortment of merchandise that would be appropriate for the customer and yourself and return to the room. I will take care of this customer in your absence.'

Miss Bonner dresses hurriedly and exits. The curtain swishes closed. Mr McDonald finally looks at me. Very slowly, from head to foot. He holds out a hand and I take it as I am pulled to my feet.