Fitting Room Man Helps Women Dress

Fitting Room Man Helps Women Dress

Male fitting room attendant helps women undress and dress while helping them to try-on clothes.

A slave to fashion, Winston, a male fitting room attendant, helps women undress and dress while helping them to try-on their clothes. He gives wealthy women the personalized service that they want, deserve, need, and must have.

My name is Winston, truthfully, not my real name. My real name is Robert, or Bob, as my friends call me. I'm in the service business. My name is whatever name women want to call me.

Truthfully, I don't care what they call me, as long as they call me. I just don't like it when they snap their fingers at me as if I'm their dog. The name they give me and want me to answer to is meaningless to me. As long as they generously tip me for my service, we're good.

The key component in our brief, business transactions, when we're alone in the fitting room, for that moment in time, I'm their sexual fantasy. A game that we silently play, women wanting me in a sexual way is part of my fitting room service. The more that they lust over me, want me to hold them, hug them, kiss them, touch them, feel them, and/or have sex with them, even if I don't do any of those things, the bigger the tip they give me.

They don't have to allow me to do any of those things, they only must want and/or imagine me doing all of those things. With me earning six-figure commissions, along with generous tips, some-thing that I don't report to the Internal Revenue Service, my tips sometimes dwarf my salary. Tipping me a thousand-dollars for fifteen minutes of my time is meaningless to them. A thousand-dollars to them is like a ten-dollar bill to the rest of us average folk.

Expressly catering to women, extremely wealthy and demanding women, sounding like the perfect job, my job is to help women undress and dress in the fitting room while helping them to try-on their clothes. Sometimes hard for them to reach, with a bad back, a bad shoulder, or arthritis, I unzip their dresses for them. While looking without seeing, I remove their dresses, and hang it on a wooden hanger, only wooden and never a wire hanger, with my thanks to Fay Dunaway as Joan Crawford in Mommy Dearest.

Seeing them in their slips, bras and half-slips, bras, and panties, topless, and/or naked does little for me, unless the woman is a celebrity that I admire. Then, I memorize every mole and freckle on her beautiful body. Some women, knowing full well that I'll be undressing them in the fitting room, don't wear a bra or panties. Seemingly becoming sexually aroused while curious for my reaction, no doubt, part of their needs, they want me to see them topless and/or naked.

Yet, I've never seen such beautiful lingerie. With fifty-dollars for a pair of panties, women have dozens of them in different colors and styles from boy shorts, to classic briefs, to French cut panties, to hipsters, thongs, G and C string, bikini, crotchless panties, and a dozen others. Where the rest of the women go to Wal-Mart to buy four-dollar panties, these wealthy women send thousands of dollars on panties alone.

Then, there's the bras that cost at least double the cost of panties. In the way that these wealthy women have their panties in different colors and styles, they have their bras in different colors and styles. T-shirt bras, wireless bras, padded bras, push-up bras, front open bras, strapless bras, halter bras, stick-on bras, minimizer bras, sports bras, seamless bras, underwire bras, and a dozen other types of bras, they spend thousands of dollars in bras, too. Wearing nothing but the best, the lingerie cost as much as a yearly income for some women.

# # #

The customers who shop in our store reserve the right to go in the fitting room alone. Should they need help undressing, dressing, trying on clothes, or needing a second opinion, they have the right to choose a male or a female fitting room attendant. After a while, with customers knowing us by names, when shopping in the store, they'll make an appointment with one of the fitting room attendants to help them with their selections.

All part of my job, even when they stand before me in their sexy lingerie, topless, or even naked, something that most men are unable to do, I see them without their clothes without looking. Sometimes, women innocently ask me to remove their bras to try on a special dress that should be worn braless. Although I clearly see their naked breasts, never making them feel ill at ease, I never stare, gawk, or leer at them.

Of course, if she asks me my opinion of what I think of their underwear clad, topless, or naked body do I stare long enough to give them my opinion. Then, to give her an honest answer, I'll have to stare longer and harder at her to tell her my honest, professional opinion. Yet, never disagreeing with her, I always agree with her with whatever she thinks or believes.

After having seen thousands of naked women, it's rare to see a woman with the perfect body. A woman blessed with a beautiful face along with a sexy and shapely body is a rare gem. With no one perfect, most women have flaws.

After seeing so many women topless and naked, it's my opinion that, except for those rare gems who are naturally blessed with a spectacular body, all women look better wearing their low-cut bras and sexy panties. With nothing covering them to hide their flaws, very few women look better naked. Besides, just like a suit can make a man, sexy lingerie can make a woman.

Not knowing who else to ask, not wanting anyone to know, some women ask me about breast implants or for my opinion on plastic surgery. As if I'm a doctor giving them a breast exam, they even ask me to feel their breasts to give them my opinion of their breasts. Of course, I accommodate them by touching, feeling, squeezing, and fondling their naked breasts while careful not to sexually arouse them by fingering their nipples.

# # #

Even though it's hard for me to sometimes believe, depending on the woman, I'm mystified that women tip me to not only stare at their naked breasts but also to feel and fondle them, too. For those women who want larger and/or shapelier breasts, they ask if I can recommend a plastic surgeon. Later at the front desk, with me having the good fortune of having professional contacts in nearly every business, I give them the business card of a local, board certified, plastic surgeon.

Having worked at my job for several years, I've lost count of how many women in their bras and panties, topless, and naked that I've seen. While not maintaining a black book to record the details of every customer, suffice to write, I have plenty enough visualizations to masturbate over. Yet, never bored with my job, I love seeing women without their clothes. Truly, how many men can grow tired of seeing women in their sexy lingerie, topless, and/or naked?

In the way that many men wish they could be a mammary gland technician, X-raying women's naked breasts, that's many men's dream job. Yet, I can assure you that helping women undress and dress while trying-on clothes in a fitting room is a demanding job. I'm not just a sales clerk, I'm a valued part of their sometimes lonely and/or sexually frustrated lives.

A job not for everyone, as if I'm the head butler in an exclusive residence, I must always be at my best and professional in my manner. After a while the job can, indeed, become tedious and mind-numbing, but I won't allow my job to do that. Instead of merely going through the role of undressing and dressing customers, I engage with them personally with conversation and jovial bantering. I befriended them. I'm no longer just their fitting room attendant but an important person in their lives.

As if I'm a mortician looking at live bodies instead of dead bodies, how many naked women can I see without losing interest in seeing another topless or naked woman? In the way that women become disenchanted with seeing naked men, seen one, seen them all, having grown quite picky in who I date, I've become somewhat dissatisfied with seeing naked women. Affecting my dreams, no longer dreaming of topless and/or naked women, I dream about cars. I love cars.

# # #

A downside of the job, no matter how nice and helpful I am to their needs, some women are real bitches, and are impossible to please. I can't imagine being married to them, no matter how wealthy they are. They think just because they have enormous amounts of money that they can trample their way through life without taking note of anyone's feelings.

Some women take sexual advantage of me by being sexually inappropriate by touching and feeling me without my permission. Some women, because we're alone in a soundproof fitting room that is devoid of cameras, think that they can hug me, kiss me, and/or grope me. Because I'm a good looking, hard bodied guy, and because they are lonely, horny, and/or sexually frustrated, they think that I'll give them sex and, depending on the woman, many times, they'd be right.

I've lost count how many women have felt my manhood through my pants, unzipped me, pulled out my prick, stroked me, and even sucked me. Instead of slapping their hands away and/or scolding them, if I allow them to have their sexual way with me, I'll receive a much larger tip. After locking the fitting room door, I've even opened the couch into a bed, or stretched out the leather, reclining chairs, and had sexual intercourse with a few.

Understanding how women feel when women treat me like that, they make me feel like a plaything instead of a person. They disregard what I want as long as they get what they want. Yet, if seeing me, hugging me, kissing me, groping me, stroking me, sucking me, and even fucking me, is what they want, I never deny them the pleasure.

How dare I refuse them? Who am I to deny them the sexual pleasure of my body? Again, all part of my job, I've lost count of how many rich women have blown me, allowed me to cum in their mouths, and swallowed me. I've lost count of how many rich women have allowed me to bend them over and fuck them from behind while holding their naked breasts in the palms of my hands.

Yet, no longer crossing the line of what is appropriate, that abhorrent, sexual behavior is mostly in the past. After getting to know my female customers better, as would a hairstylist or a fashion designer, I've built more of a friendship with many of them. Some of my customers have invited me out to dinner, to cocktail parties at their house, or to keep my company as their escort for the night to attend the theatre. Lillian, the owner of the store, encourages me to build closer relationships with my customers to motivate increased sales.

Yet, whatever my customers do, their secrets are safe with me. Don't ask, don't tell is my personal policy that I abide by when sexually servicing them. Because a woman needs a good fucking, when her older, rich husband can no longer cut the mustard, and can only lick the jar, is no reason to ruin her marriage by telling him or threatening to blackmail her.

If word got around that I failed to honor the confidences of a customer, I'd be out of a job. My loyal customers would no longer ask me to undress them, dress them, and/or have sex with them. Keeping their secrets safe is how I earn my living. Even though my and their zippers may be down, and our legs spread, my lips are sealed.

# # #

I work in a high-end, fashion designer, women's clothing store on Fifth Avenue in New York. I'm hired to give women the personal attention and the professional service that they need, want, deserve, and expect when shopping for expensive fashion that sometimes cost more than a car. Ready to accommodate their every need and special requirement, it's not unusual for women to want me to give them sex as part of my personal, fitting room service.

Not encouraged by management to give my customer sex but closing her eyes to such things, what happens behind closed, fitting room doors is none of anyone's business. Besides, the owner of the store, Lillian, an ex-model, knows what goes on in the fitting rooms. In order to score modeling assignments, she's had sex with photographers, modeling agents, and customers.

Ready and willing to give all of myself, my motto is never saying no to anything to satisfy the customer for a bigger tip, of course. In the way that men love having quickies while on their lunch hours, surprisingly, many women do, too. Many women are nasty whores just as men are perverted whoremongers.

In the way that women have high-end clothing boutiques, men have high-end clothing stores, too. I serve women and sometimes sexually service them to make a sale, and earn a commission along with a tip. In high-end men's clothing stores, women give men the personalized attention and the professional service that they need, want, deserve, and expect when shopping for expensive clothes. Believe it or not but with more lonely women than there are horny men, I offer the same service to women as women offer to men.

With wealthy men buying half-a-dozen, ten-thousand-dollar suits in one visit, it's not unusual for men wanting women to give them sex as part of their shopping service. Easy to build friendships and/or sexual relationships, especially when alone with a customer in the privacy of a fitting room, their positive shopping experience is all about the customer. It's important that the customer returns to buy more. Again, what happens behind closed and locked, dressing room doors, our little secrets, must never be disclosed.

Not equipped with cameras spying, our fitting rooms are furnished in the way of a compact, albeit tastefully decorated living room, with even art on the walls. Every dressing room has soundproof walls, a couch that can double as a bed, comfortable reclining chairs, a wide-screen TV, a stereo, links to the stock market, a table, chairs, a well-stocked mini-bar, and chilled champagne. Anything from a bag of chips or nuts to a full course meal, can be delivered when ordered.

In some regards, as employees of this exclusive boutique, we have become as powerfully influential as our customers. With just a call on our cell phones, we can get them choice seats at concerts, operas, ballets, Broadway shows, sporting events, and/or dinner reservations at booked and impossible to reserve restaurants. We are the concierges of the super rich who help get the wealthy whatever they want and need.

# # #

With sex, sales commissions, and exorbitant tipping are all part of the shopping experience that we avail ourselves to our customers. It would be wrong to label male and female fitting room attendants as prostitutes. Oh, no. Even though we do sometimes have sex with our clientele, we are so much more than that.

We're not whores and whoremongers, we're well read, and well-traveled, educated professionals with advanced degrees. As if we're Jeopardy contestants, for conversation sake, we're trained to know a little about a lot of things. We entertain our customers with engaging conversation and knowledge as much as we do with our bodies.

Yes, of course, we give those lonely, and wealthy women who want sex, and those horny men who want sexual companionship what they want, but sex is much more than what we deliver with our personalized service. Most customers, especially women, are just lonely. They want to talk, cuddle, kiss, or to have someone to listen to them. As if they're teenagers dating, they enjoy making out with me while I touch, feel, and fondle them through their clothes.

When sex does happen, a special event, and a beautiful thing, it's more loving than it is rushed. Where a male of a female escort will mainly suck and fuck, we could pass as their wealthy companion, a family friend, perhaps, or even a distant relative albeit close, very close, relative. We're the whole package loosely labeled as fitting room attendants.

Alas, a downside of the job, even though they are well put together, with hair, makeup, and fashion, too many of my customers are short, fat, wealthy women with big, saggy breasts, and fat asses. Yet, sometimes, younger, and beautiful women allow me to undress and dress them while offering her my opinions about style and fashion. No matter what they look like, as long as they can afford to shop in our store, hire me, allow me to sell them to earn my commission, and generously tip me, I'm ready to help them look their best.

# # #

The requirements of my job that I needed to be hired was that I needed to be tall, I'm 6' 4". I needed to be good looking. I worked as a model for a short time. I needed to be well built. I'm a body-builder, powerlifter, a third dan in Japanese Judo, and an all around physical fitness freak.

Too many wealthy men have too much fat, more understated, I have lots of muscles without looking like a broad shouldered monster of a bouncer standing at the front door of a club. More-over, I'm well-groomed and am wearing the latest fashion. Women look at me in the way that they'd love their husband to look. Actually, some women wish that I was their husband.

Lastly, and the most important part of my job, I needed to be a good listener. Remaining silent, I nod my head to let them know that I'm not only listening but also that I understand their needs. As if I'm their therapist, ready to take me in their confidence, women tell me exactly what they want and expect while I remain silent and listen to their specific needs.

Many of these women are married to wealthy and powerful men who discount them, seldom listen to them, and barely talk to them. Too busy thinking about money and making their next business deals, or fucking their secretaries, they're seldom home long enough to lend their lonely wives their ears. As if I'm their chosen one, I'm their surrogate listener. As long as they handsomely reward me for my time, I give them the full attention that they need.

With me being a good listener, having lots of repeat customers, as if I'm a massage therapist, a chiropractor, a therapist, a psychiatrist, or world famous chef, women ask for me by name. Again, a typical trait, many of the women are lonely. Again, something that many of them have in common, many of them are sexually frustrated. Many of them just want to talk to a good looking man while I undress them, allow me to subtly touch them, and seductively feel and fondle them without groping them.

Before I was hired, I met with the owner of the company, Lillian, a fifty-something, 5' 10", beautiful, ex-model with black, shoulder length hair, beautiful brown eyes, and a beautiful smile. Looking ten-years younger, she has B cup breasts, a shapely figure, and a tight ass. Even though she was twenty-years older than me, I'd do her. Then, she shocked me with what she said when interviewing me.

"I have sex with all of my seriously considered applicants before I hire them," she said unembarrassed and unashamed.

Surprising me, she stood from her leather chair in her second floor office that overlooked the busy street below. Then, surprising me, she put her high heeled foot on her desk. Looking without staring, she was wearing a short skirt.

As soon as she put her foot on my desk, with her long, shapely legs spread wide open, she exposed her sheer, white panties to me. Again, seeing without staring, she was testing me while sexually teasing me and seducing me. Nonetheless, I saw her pussy mound, her camel toe, her pussy slit, and her black, trimmed pubic hair that peeked through her panties.

# # #

Then, she told me what she wanted. She told me what she expected me to do. Before hiring me, she showed me what I needed to do for some of my wealthy customers.

"Masturbate me, Winston," she said as the name that she gave me. "Finger my pussy while licking my pussy," she said.

She lifted the hem of her short skirt to her waist.