AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first erotic series I ever wrote, back in 2005-7, long before posting my first story. I have revised and edited (hopefully well) the chapters, but they are pretty much as they were when I wrote them. It is the story of a married couple in love and exploring a new version of their relationship. It is a fairly long series, although some of the chapters are quite short.
There is no sex in this chapter. Just sexiness. Enjoy, and thanks for reading
CHAPTER FIVE - NEW CLOTHES
"Slave."
She opened her eyes to see John looming over her. She squinted into the light, rubbed the sleep out, and tried to open them. Her mouth was dry, and tasted of ... morning. She finally got her eyes opened, and asked him to repeat what he's said.
"Good morning, sweetheart, he grinned. "You look lovely, and well relaxed." He sat on the bed, leaned to her and kissed her forehead. "We have a big day ahead of us. Slave."
She thought she heard the slave command! She sighed; she was not ready for sex this early in the day. She groaned, rolled over, and he shook her shoulder.
"C'mon, we're not having sex now," he urged. "We have a lot of places to go, and I need you up and dressed. I brought you coffee. You get in the shower while I start breakfast."
"What? What are we doing? And why the Slave Command if we're not having sex?" She was more than just sleep-disoriented, she was confused from the mixed signals. Was she disappointed that they weren't having sex?
He grinned at her, sat back on the bed. He put his hand on her chest, massaged her breast as he spoke. "We're going shopping for clothes. The reason for the Slave Command is because we will be shopping for your clothes, for your new sex life. I am commanding you, as my Sex Slave, to cooperate and not resist, or disagree, or try to discourage any purchase. Obviously, if something doesn't fit, you'll have to let me know."
He found her nipple becoming hard, played with it. "However, in addition to saying nothing critical about the clothes we purchase, you will be under command to compliment how they will make you look, and why."
"Huh?"
"I'll explain more on the way. In the meantime, let's go."
An hour later they were on their way. As they left the house he dragged a large trash bag to the garbage. When she asked what it was, he told her it was her old panties and bras. "You won't be needing them after today," he chuckled.
He explained the Complimenting Command. "During the day you'll be on 'Normal' so you can speak and act freely on any subject except your Slave Commands. When you see a selection I have made, it may not be something you would normally choose. NOT ONLY are you prohibited from saying 'I don't like that', but you MUST say why you like it and how it will look good on you."
"I'm still not following. I get the part about not saying I don't like it. The rest; I don't get the rest."
"OK, for instance," he began to explain. She had to admit, as a Slave Master, he was creative and understanding. He kept it fun, and interesting. "In many cases it may be the reason you would not have bought it. Let's say I pick a blouse. You, on any other day, might think it iss cut too tight across your chest, which, if I may point out, is spectacular." She grinned, and felt a little blush. "Instead of saying "I don't like it because --"
"I have to say I like it because it accentuates my chest." She interrupted. "I think I'm starting to get it."
"Right. A skirt that might have been too tight, or too short ..."
"Oh, this will really show off my legs, and I feel so sexy in it!" she said in a fake girly voice.
"Right idea, but less campy. Approach it seriously." She was tempted to ridicule the idea more, but decided against it. Hey, she was getting new clothes...
"I am your slave," she said, serenely, "I will do whatever you say."
"All right. Normal."
Their first stop was a corset shop, of all places. As they were walking in, she said, matter-of factly, "Oh yes, this will give me that restricted breathing ability that is so sexy." She looked at him sideways, waiting for the angry reaction.
"Silly slave. You probably think that we're going to buy a corset. No, no," he shook his head. "Come with me and get a lesson." A bell over the door jingled as they entered, and an older woman, clearly once beautiful and now simply elegant, came out to greet John by name. With a slight accent, something Mediterranean, she turned to Lena, telling John, "Oh, you said she was so pretty; she is beautiful. You're a lucky man." Lena felt a flush of embarrassment at this compliment from a stranger, but had no idea why. "Come with me, dear, we'll take good care of you." The woman took her by the hand and dragged her into the back room. Lena looked at John, who smiled.
"Most women do not know how to select a brassiere," the woman said, sitting Lena down. "Take off your shirt dear." She was selecting some boxes from under the nearby table. "They go through their entire life with bras that fit only ehh-h," she motioned with her hand, "and never know that it's supposed to look and feel better." She came over to Lena. "What are you doing dear? You have to take off your shirt so we can measure."
"I don't know what I'm doing here."
"He didn't tell you?" she motioned to the front of the store. "He's a good husband, no? But a devil. He should tell you, but OK. You get measured for a good bra, one for you. I make." She waited. "You have to take off your shirt and bra so I can measure. You see."
With half a grin, Lena began to unbutton her shirt. A Custom Fitted bra. What an idiot. What did he think, she couldn't pick a bra? She took off her shirt, started undoing the clasp at her back. For Pete's sake, she's had boobs since junior high, and now Mr. Expert is going to know more about bras than she does?
And then she was topless, and the woman began measuring, and flitting around her, talking endlessly in her little accented speech. "You probably think this is a waste of time, no? You wear bras all your life, no?" She looked at Lena, thinking. "Except maybe when you were young, maybe you thought you didn't need one, yeah?" Back to measuring. "You probably, two, maybe three times in your life, have a bra that you really thought was good. The rest," she made the motion with her hand, "ehh-ehh. Yeah?" Measure. "You just wear them. No?" That's because those few were the only ones you ever had that almost were right. By accident, by luck, you pick one or two your whole life that fit right and look right on you. A bra for you, for your breast, your shape." She stopped measuring, went to the boxes, took some samples out, fabric cups, straps. She came to Lena, cups in the palm of her hands, and motioned at her breasts. "OK? Yeah?" Lena understood, nodded, and the woman nodded back, starting her talk again. "When you get these from me, you'll be wondering what you were doing the rest of your life, dear." She held the cups up onto Lena's chest, pressing her boobs in. She shook her head, switched for a different set from the box, and did it again. Nodding, she went to another box, extracting scraps of material.
"You see when you try this on, you see what I mean. This one won't be just right, still a little," she made the hand motion again, "but better than what you are used to, you see." She was constructing a bra from parts, she saw. Different sized pieces were being clipped together, then she brought it over, and helped her put it on.
Damn! She was right! Even though it felt like it was put together, it still fit better, pulled less, held her tits better, and was more comfortable than the one she wore in. She stood, faced a mirror, and the woman stood behind her looking over her shoulder. "Yeah? Yeah, OK? You like this, right?" Actually, Lena thought her tits looked great in this bra! The woman grabbed Lena's shoulders, pulling them back, saying, "Stand up straight, you stoop like that, you'll be a hunchback when you get old, you'll have to get a job ringing bells. Like this, here." With her shoulders back her tits stood up, and presented themselves. They seemed better shaped, better supported, and directed properly, not just bunched and held. Lena nodded approvingly.
"I like this a lot. You were right. These make my, uh, breasts," she stumbled over what word to use, "feel better, and look better. And they don't make them stick out in everybody's face. I hate that." She turned to one side, then the other. "This is great," she blurted, excitedly.
The woman was beaming with self-confidence and pride. "You see when you get the real ones, how good" she said reaching for the bra, "this is just for test, for show." She took off the bra, set it aside, and went to a third box, smaller. "You wear this one home today. Not your own, like I make, but better than the one you wear in, OK?" She handed it over, and Lena put it on. It was a ¾ cups, so it showed some cleavage, but she was right again, it was a better fit and presentation than what she'd worn in. She put her shirt back on, buttoned it. "Is good, better, yeah? Not what your own will be like, you'll see, but better, yeah?" She reached up and unbuttoned the top of Lena's shirt, exposing the top of her cleavage. "Is like this. Now you look good, not exposed. A little cleavage is sexy, yeah? But before, didn't look right for you, yeah?
Lena looked in the mirror, and she was right. She didn't look trampy with some cleavage showing. She looked, well, sexy. Cool! She smiled at the woman and thanked her, and asked her how much the bra cost. As they went back out to see John the woman said it was free, and then showed her off to John.
She felt suddenly like she was on display, and John was gazing at her chest like he'd never seen it before. She didn't know if that was good or bad. Good, but what if everyone stared?
"Very nice. It looks as good as you said it would." He grinned at Lena, then at the woman. "And this is not the good one?"
"No, no, this is for your wife to wear today, to keep. I make the good ones. Probably a week for all of them, I could have a few ready in two days."
"That will be perfect. I'll come by in two days, pick up the first ones, and you call me when the rest are done. I'll take the order we discussed. Can you get me one each in two days?"
"Sure, sure thing. One each, very good." She escorted them to the door. "I see you in two days, yeah?" They said thank you's and good-bye's, and left.
In the car, he asked as they pulled out, "So, what do you think?" He was still glancing at her, like he'd never seen her tits before. She didn't have to fake a Slave answer.
"I really like it. She said the real ones would be even better. But they support my tits better, and make them look sexy, not just out there. Not in-your-face." She paused. "How many did you get?"
"In full cup, two white, two black, one red, one purple. In three quarters, the same, but two red. In half cup, only one white, two each of the rest."
"I don't wear half cups, John," she said.
"Yet," he corrected. "After the first order she'll make some strapless, other specials ones." He glanced at her, smirking.
"Thank you, John. This is very nice. I can't believe you."
They chatted as they traveled between stores. As the day continued, the chat became more and more about the clothing he had selected. In some cases he made her wear something new to the next stop. After the bra they visited a hosiery store, where they purchased some fine, elegant stockings, a few dignified but sexy garter belts, and some thigh-high stockings that did not require garter belts.
John: "No more unsexy pantyhose for you, Lena."
