At my favorite high-end lingerie store in the city, they employ almost exclusively tall, beautiful women with bodies that are easy to imagine lounging around in their wares--round, perky breasts that bump up against you when they're measuring your cup size and asses that are high, tight and invariably clothed in an expensive pair of La Perla panties. When I walk in, a gorgeous young blonde smiles at me from behind a counter and asks in a voice huskier than I would have predicted if she could be of any help to me today.
I smile back and think of you, and the assignment you whispered to me on the phone this morning. "Buy something red." The words still dance on the edge of my consciousness, tickling me in places I want to tell you about later.
I indicate part of a new collection that has been put on display since the last time I visited, and she nods. "Oh yes," she says, grinning. I pick up a dark red bra and feel the smooth contours of it between my fingers. I smile in spite of myself, thinking about your hands finding the material, taking in its luxurious feel for a moment then tearing it off of me with a hungry growl.
"Do you need any help with that?" the blonde asks as I take the bra and its matching panties towards the fitting rooms. For a brief moment, I imagine her and me in various states of undress behind the velvet curtain, my mouth on her pretty, pink nipples while I finger her into submission on her lunch break. But then I pinch myself. I've made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it.
I call that I'm fine on my own, and find myself staring at the full-length mirror, about to slide out of my skirt. I hear the phone ring out throughout the shop, and the salesgirl's voice, which is suddenly higher and not husky at all, sounds stressed. "Fifteen minutes!" I hear her sputter into the phone, then hang up. In an instant, she is just outside the curtain. She is so close that I can smell her perfume--jasmine with other floral notes--and the scent makes me heady for a moment. I pinch myself again.
"I'm sorry to have to do this, but I have a small emergency," she says. "Are you okay alone here for a little bit?" I smile at myself in the mirror. They know me here, and I am trusted to be alone with all this expensive lace and silk. "Of course," I reply, and begin to remove my top. In the mirror, I see an attractive redhead with alabaster skin and deep green eyes, wearing nothing but a pair of black stockings. I hear the door close and take the red bra from the hanger, safe in the knowledge that I am completely alone in this little shop, and that I am carrying out your assignment to the letter.
As I'm clasping the bra behind me, I hear the door open again. The salesgirl must've have forgotten something, I think. But then I hear footsteps heading towards the fitting room. I gasp a bit under the flattering light, half naked and feeling more than a bit vulnerable.
In an instant, a large hand sweeps the curtain back. In the mirror, I see your face staring back at my image, your eyes wild and piercing. Upon meeting your gaze, I feel a familiar warmth spreading between my legs. I am incredulous, and instantly aware of your body and my body in this small, enclosed space.
"But...how? You're supposed to be at work--" I start, but you cut me off by placing a hand on my left shoulder, your eyes never leaving mine.
"Shhhh," you whisper closely to my ear, sliding your fingers along the left strap of the red lace and then pulling it from my skin slightly, letting it snap back against my pale skin, where it will undoubtedly leave a mark.
I turn around to smile at you, but you square my shoulders back so that I'm still facing the mirror with just enough force that I know I shouldn't try it again. Your beard tickles me as you tilt my head back and kiss the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. We are still maintaining eye contact in the mirror, taking in this small, barely clad woman and this strong, tall, fully-clothed man behind her. I open my mouth to say something, but you respond by biting me hard in the same spot you just kissed. As your teeth sink into me, I instinctively grab for your hand. You bat me away and slide your hands along the silk of my panties, sending them to the ground in a flourish. Seconds later your large hands are unclasping the bra, and I gasp.
"We won't be alone for long," I whisper, a slight panic rising in me. You grin, a look of pure mischief crossing your features.
You say my name, slowly and deeply, in a tone that I've come to adore and slightly fear for the power that it has over me. "You know you're not supposed to worry about that," you nearly coo. "You had a job, and you've done it. My good little girl." Your words are soft and kind, but your hands are suddenly rough as you position my arms above me, palms on the mirror. My breasts are exposed, my pussy is glinting wet underneath the lights, and I feel you stiffen against my back. You are so much taller than me; your cock grows harder against my back and I feel a second wave of panic, mixed with a light-headed and intense desire.
"I'm not sure we have the time--" I venture, and before I can finish my thought, your hand swats my round, bare ass. Hard. Your look, reflected in the mirror, is stern.
"Don't speak again," you mutter. "Good little sluts should be quiet and let me worry about things. Are you a good little slut?"
