She said that it was the policy of the store that the assistants do all of the work for the customer, and then, the customer would be freed of mundane tasks, thus more able to concentrate, in a finer, deliberate, manner, on exactly what they preferred...
I was skeptical, but allowed the help, in an unusually conformed temperamental way...and stood there, stoically, as the beautiful assistant unbuttoned my top, and pulled me out of it, in such a flowing, dynamic, seamless movement, that I dreamt of dancing the Tango with troubadours: ...You know the ones...the one's dressed in black...with those stiff rimmed hats on...those black stiff-rimmed hats...yes, those guys...yes--them!
Her hands were small, and nimble, and her finger nails were un-pretentious...and clean...
Her eyes were the color of dreams, and her breath smelled like...sunshine...
I saw some sleep in the corner of her eye, and I wanted to rub it out with my finger and eat it...
As she worked away, I could detect the aroma beneath her deodorant: In waiting, I sampled her billowing scent, and tuned my inhalation to coincide with the lifting of her arms...Efficient, pragmatic, non-judgmental conductance of her tentacles, flowing in symphonies of brilliant choreographed movement; measured, and metered, in precise attendance of the tempo to the music of my undressing... She smelled like Demerara sugar, Tupelo honey and sprigs of mint heated gently in a Dutch boiler, and when thick enough, poured through a strainer containing clove buds, vanilla sticks and rough bark cinnamon... Before the boil set, a pat of double cream butter thrown over the top...and let to melt in a few shakes of red wine vinegar...and when cooled...spread liberally over ginger nut cookies...This is what lurked beneath her deodorant...this is what her body put out...under her rose scented exterior...in the deepest pits of her bodily folds...and as she worked, and breathed...I drank her into me, and savored her presence like an animal of prey, gorging on the steaming corpse of a fresh kill...somewhere, in the dusty bowl of the Serengeti plain--perhaps...
She spun me around and I unraveled out of my top like a present out of its colored wrappings used as a strategic ploy to bolster-up a flagging low-point of a birthday celebration put together by someone other than the birthday girl, or boy. Nevertheless, it felt unnervingly...good, to be...so...dispassionately, treated...by a...stranger. Only people one has known all, or most of one's life...feel, with no qualification...that they...somehow...have the--right--to handle one thus...!
I was standing there looking at her...looking for some kind of...communion between us so that I could attack her and push her away...but there was none of that...I was...immobilized by my own inability to process this...? I was immobilized by my inability to find fault with this girl...I wanted to reject her...I wanted to hate her...I wanted to discard her...but she had given me no reason to do any of this...and it confused me...and numbed me...If I couldn't get mad at her, then I couldn't repel her...and if I couldn't repel her, then I was helpless against her...I was mute...I was bare...I was...vulnerable...and I was afraid...and numb and...and...curious...
I pulled my senses together, as much as I could, and reached for the blouse to try it on...
The assistant gently caught hold of my wrist, and said, in a soft voice..." I'm sorry but I haven't cleaned u yet..."
I stopped and muttered..."...Clean...?" The assistant said, " Yes, it is the store policy, it will only take a moment..."
I was flabbergasted, and astounded...and I stood there stationary, as she wet a flannel in the steaming bowl of soapy, bubbly, water that she had set upon the portable table; set up strictly for this purpose alone, and wrung it out, the bubbles generating others of its own kind, on the surface of the water...and with the cloth shook out, she grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head down and forward, and administered the damp, wet, soapy, wash: She, then seamlessly, and without conscious deliberation, or design, moved over to my shoulders, and swilled them efficiently, and without deference to me: Then roughly around my neck, behind my ears even...and inside my ear-holes, she went without reservation, pulling my head around, and my upper torso followed...I was dazed...and wet...and cleaned... One by one she raised my arms, and washed under my armpits, with such vigor that I shuddered, and with one hand still holding mine, she quickly rinsed the flannel in the bowl; and using her shoulder to maintain contact with me, she took her both hands, and wrung the cloth into it...the sound of the water made me shiver, and quake....
She shook the cloth out again after the rinse, and washed my upper body down...down over the entire length of my arms, flannelling my hands out fully to the very tip of my fingers: Placing my clean side to rest upon the spare-side of her frame, she adroitly repeated the procedure over the other half of my body...
I was drooling...I was intoxicated with fear of being out of control...
She swilled the cloth through, and wrung it out once more, and caught hold of my entire face with it and washed every grain of persona from me...and I threw up into the cloth...and she caught it....and wiped me clear...clear of the embarrassment of the act--reflex...
I was unstable on my feet, my knees were buckling under the release of tension, I farted, and pee ran down my legs...and the assistant smiled and held me...
She asked if I wanted to try on lingerie, I nodded yes...she asked if I wanted to try on panties and bras...and stockings... I nodded yes, again, and she held me and started to strip me standing there in the changing rooms...
I couldn't think straight...all I knew was that I was trying to try on clothes...and that I had to be cleaned first...
I was slumped over her shoulder now...as the she unlatched my bra, and yanked it, adroitly, from me...then my skirt went to the floor, under the persuasion of her nimble fingers, and the impelling implication of gravity, itself...it seems.
...An impresario fluttering with the touch of a butterfly...browsing the condition of my fastened buttons, and clenched zipper's teeth: mulling over the unlatching code...like a pianist's subtle fingers pondering the ivory: ...She had me completely off the ground, flopped about her deceivingly robust stature, like a rag doll strewn across the fluffy back of a teddy-bear in a cot of naughty toys...in a fireman's way. And I felt her warm hands on me...as she pulled my pantyhose, and panties off of my tremblingly yielding body...and threw them to the ground--unceremoniously.
My feet were placed calmly back to earth, and I stood up vertical once again...
My entire world was upside down, and I couldn't catch up with it...
I felt her washing me...washing my breasts; gently lifting their orbital mass, and soaping under them, then washing my full orbs, in circular movements, that made my teats stand on end. And she would carry on down...and down over my belly, inside my navel, and my head was spinning like a top...all I really wanted to do was to get in out of the rain for a few minutes, and touch something nice...and warm, and frilly...
I had the experience of the assistant , pulling clothes onto me and off of me...and stuffing my breasts into all different types of bras, and she was standing back and saying that this one is better than the last...and that I really needed to get this type...that it suited my figure better...and I remember her asking if I wanted to try on panties and thongs and I nodded yes, and I remember her scrubbing my ass-hole, and working the flannel deep into my bung-hole to clean it out...and ordering me to stand with my legs wide apart so that she could wash my pussy out properly...and I remember her insisting that I stand with my legs as wide apart as I could, whilst she...she worked away under me, opening up my vulva, and ever-so-gently cleansing the inner folds of my labial lips, with the warm soft tip of her cloth... And I remember that she produced an electric razor...and nodded to me...and I nodded back...as she shaved every hair of my womanhood, and made me bend over and touch my toes, while she attended my the circular hairs of my dark mysterious coral colored puckered hole back there...nimbly getting in there, and trimming my hay, with her stealthy electric scythe... And when she had defoliated me...and turned me into a pre-pubescent nymph again, she came around with her warm, wet soapy cloth again, and looked up into my eyes, from beneath me...from out of the horizon of my bald vulva's Mount of Venus...staring at me...through the glistening gap, of my turgid vaginal lips...and nodded yes...I nodded affirmative in echo, and she gently opened my labia...all the way to the top. My little nun's hood presented itself...and under my hood...hid the center of my wanton lust and burning desire.
The assistant pulled back my glistening pink nun's headdress. Reluctantly at first, the engorged hot, sticky, wet, head of my clitoris slithered out of its cave and peeped around shyly, like a sea anemone creeping out of its coral flute. I shuddered as the exposure of the world caressed my most sensitive--attribute. I could feel the air violently breezing...flowing ever so softly, across the very, very...bared, nerve ends...even the subtle heat from the light felt like a warm caress of the sun. A warm caress of a mother, maybe...comforting its ailing child, with the soft reassurance of warm, milk; predictable, and available to her off-spring, from the bottomless well of her bulging, lactating...sympathetic bosom. I could feel her breath on my clitoris...gently assaulting my sensibilities...rushing eagerly out of her panting lips, gushing over the stiffening arrow-head of my burning vulvas nucleus... I was transfixed...saliva was drooling out of my swollen turgid, lips...
