customer-profiling
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Customer Profiling

Customer Profiling

by apilgrimsquare
19 min read
4.61 (16200 views)
adultfiction

This is a little story I wrote that doesn't have very much sex in it. It's SEXY, I think, but it's relatively light on genital-on-genital contact. Please read the tags for some light spoilers, in case you'd like to know what you're in for. I originally intended to submit this for the Winter Holiday 2024 Contest but the theme didn't really come through. But I wanted to publish it anyway. Enjoy!

The Christmas spirit had hit the city, and Bleecker Street was bustling. Throngs of bag-toting tourists shuffled down the sidewalk, oohing and aahing at the window displays, stopping at awkward intervals and forcing the grumpy locals to weave their way around them, trampling the previous evening's dusting of snow into a fine slush that stuck to their shoes. The boutiques dotting the street had thrown their doors open for the thousands of Christmas shoppers who had descended on the West Village shopping district. Many of them would make their whole quarter in the next few weeks. Some would make their whole year. Sarah wondered why she bothered opening.

It seemed shoppers weren't so interested in lingerie shopping this time of year, or at least not at

Ravir

, Sarah's French-named but American-owned intimate apparel boutique. Oh, they would window shop. Everyone loved getting an eyeful of the mannequins, dressed in cheeky thongs, sheer teddies, and other baroque assortments of silk and lace. Today, they'd also be wearing Santa hats. But they would never come in. Perhaps it was the hundreds of prying eyes on the street, warning off interested shoppers from stepping inside and catching a knowing look from a curious stranger. Perhaps there were too many tourists and families on the street, and her regulars wanted to avoid the crowds. But Sarah hadn't had a shopper all day. Luckily, the online store was still busy. It was bad enough she had had to let one of the girls go, last month. If it weren't for online sales, she might have to pack it in altogether. The Bleecker Street location was beginning to feel more and more like an expensive luxury, a vanity storefront in an increasingly digital world.

Sarah was reviewing customer inquiries on her laptop when the bell above the door jingled, and a gust of wind blew in, shaking the assorted babydolls hanging on the rack near the front of the store. A woman stood at the threshold, wearing a heavy peacoat, thick scarf and a knitted cap with an enormous, poofy ball perched on top. She closed the door after wiping her heavy boots on the welcome mat, stuffing her mittens in her coat pockets as she stepped inside, eyes agog.

"Welcome in," Sarah said with a smile, her voice warm and honeyed. She crossed her legs and sat up on her stool, folding her hands in her lap.

The woman started, as if she hadn't noticed Sarah until then. Sarah's white long-sleeve top blended in with the wall behind her, and her black miniskirt, pantyhose and thigh-high black boots were obscured by the check-out counter. Compared to the pops of color on the walls and racks and displays, Sarah and her blonde bob haircut were practically camouflaged.

"Oh," the woman said, her voice uncertain as she rubbed her hands together before removing her hat, her carrot-colored hair clinging and crackling with light static as it floated back down to earth. "Um... thank you."

Sarah liked to think she understood the types of women who shopped at

Ravir

, having used surveys and consultants to develop psychometric profiles for sales and marketing purposes, and prided herself on her powers of observation. You had your Connoisseurs, those ladies who kept up on trends, regularly refreshed their wardrobes and enjoyed investing in high-end, premium pieces. You had your Functionals, who most frequently purchased mass market underwear and practical items elsewhere, but enjoyed the occasional splurge and spent significant time on research before buying. There were Adventurers, who loved to browse and seldom bought, and Occasion-Driven Buyers, who bought for specific occasions like weddings, honeymoons, anniversaries. Sarah curated her collections to please the Connoisseurs, but she had something for everyone - and, critically, a sales pitch for anyone.

It was all a matter of figuring out what a customer needed to hear.

"Please let me know if I can help you find what you're looking for," Sarah said, stepping down from the stool and making her way around the counter, walking with practiced, delicate motions. She could tell she was about two inches taller than her shopper, before her boots added another two inches, and kept her face pleasant and welcoming.

The woman was most likely an Occasion-Driven Buyer, Sarah reasoned. She looked lost in the store, looking at items as if she'd never seen anything like them before, and while Sarah took grain pains to curate a collection of limited editions, designer items, her wares were largely variations on themes. One wouldn't find unique or intimidating BDSM-inspired assemblages at

Ravir

,

for instance. Her shopper looked like she had never seen anything with cutouts in her whole life. And she wasn't an Adventurer, Sarah thought. No. Adventurers mostly got their kicks online, these days. It was easier to browse at one's leisure, easier to fantasize, and it was infinitely less awkward to close the window than to tell the eager sales associate that they'd "think about it."

This woman was an occasion shopper, Sarah decided, from out of town. From the suburbs of New Jersey, perhaps, or Long Island. She may be reluctant. It might have taken courage to come in. She would need guidance. Encouragement.

"Is there something in particular you're looking for?"

Sarah had closed the distance between them, by now, and took another look at the woman's face. She was pretty, Sarah thought, or at least had been when she was younger. The woman was between 35 and 40 years old, with a fair complexion but for the smattering of orange freckles on her face. Her cheeks retained some color from the winter air, but she was wearing only light makeup and her lips were chapped.

"I'm, uh... I'm looking for a... gift..."

Occasion it is, Sarah thought. And the way she hesitated before gift confirmed doubts, if not outright reluctance. Sarah gave herself partial credit.

"For you? Or..."

"For my husband."

Sarah arched an eyebrow.

"I mean... for me, for my husband. For me to wear. As a gift. A Christmas gift. He's out with the kids at a Rangers game and I'm... doing some Christmas shopping!"

"I see!" Sarah moved closer, looking down at the sequined black negligee the woman held between her fingertips. It was a flattering piece. A flattering cut in a flattering color, with enough detail to feel special and unique without being gaudy. But the example she held was an extra small. Her coat made it difficult to estimate her measurements, but Sarah would have bet it was too small for her, and it was the only one she had in stock. "Do you know your size and measurements?"

"It depends. I usually wear a small or medium. But measurements... it's been a while..."

"Would you like me to measure you?"

The woman thought about this, bobbing her head side to side and frowning thoughtfully before shrugging and nodding.

"Just bear with me one moment."

Sarah walked to the door, her heels softly thumping on the wood grain, and locked it, spinning the "Open" sign to its "Closed" side. Her shopper looked skeptical as Sarah made her way back.

"I'm the only one working today, and we do our measurements in the back."

Sarah pointed to the rear of the store, behind the counter and its flanking wall.

"It's... more private, back there."

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Confusion gave way to understanding, Sarah thought, as the woman must have only just realized she would need to disrobe for her measurements. But she nodded, and let Sarah lead the way.

#

The dressing room was spacious and lush, bathed in soft light and much warmer than the front of the store. Sarah took the woman's coat and scarf, placing the hanger on a hook beside the sofa opposite the folding mirrors. Sarah could see now that she wore an oversize, chunky gold-and-red-striped Christmas sweater above a pair of black yoga pants. Her legs looked trim, but that could have been the Lycra's handiwork. The woman wrung her hands and hesitated a second before she began to slowly undress.

"I can wait outside, if you prefer."

"Oh! Uh, no, don't be silly. You're going to see me in a minute anyway."

Sarah folded her hands and stood patiently at the back of the room. The woman lifted the sweater over her head, revealing a loose blue t-shirt underneath and causing her fiery hair to scatter once more before she smoothed it back with her fingers. Her figure was slimmer than Sarah had first expected, and she credited the coat, scarf and sweater for creating the bulkier silhouette that had first entered the store. She kicked off her boots, giving a startled, apologetic look to Sarah for treating her dressing room so carelessly. Sarah indicated this was fine, and the woman continued. Off went the shirt, dropping down on top of the sweater. She wore a plain white padded bra, about a 34C, Sarah wagered, that had started to go gray from repeated washings and was visibly too small for her bust. She had the soft body of a middle-aged woman, with a little extra padding around the midsection, but otherwise reasonably fit. The body of a woman who watched what she ate, but had no time for exercise. The body of a mother. As she moved in the light, Sarah detected light stretch marks on her stomach.

She picked up the sweater and shirt, walking them over to the sofa and catching Sarah's eye before sheepishly folding them and placing them on one of the cushions.

Returning to the center of the room, she peeled down her yoga pants, revealing a pair of maroon boyshorts that had gone baggy from years of use, and a couple of pale white legs with another round of light freckles on her calves.

As a lingerie merchant, Sarah appreciated the female form. She watched the woman undress with interest, because it might help her provide better service. Better recommendations. She wanted to see how she moved. How she lived in her body. How she lived

with

her body. Sarah could see that this was a woman too busy caring for others to care for herself. Too busy serving others to ever treat herself. Her sweater was expensive, or at least expensive-looking. Money wasn't the issue. The issue was time and, perhaps, confidence.

The woman shrugged and held her arms out. Sarah laughed. She decided she would wait to tell her that she couldn't measure her bust with a padded bra on. She would let her relax, a little, first.

"My name is Sarah, by the way. What's yours?"

"Amy," the woman said.

"It's nice to meet you, Amy. Let's take some measurements."

Sarah stepped up behind Amy on the dais, smoothing her miniskirt. Amy's hair smelled like lilacs and vanilla. Sarah draped the measuring tape around Amy's body, pulling it tight to her chest just beneath her bra and wrapping it gently around her ribs, forming a loose circle and taking the measurement. A 34, as she had guessed.

"34! Same as me. Lots of options in that size."

Amy smiled quickly. It was the first time Sarah had seen her smile since she had walked in.

Now for the bust, Sarah thought. She would spare Amy the embarrassment of telling her bra was padded; of pointing out that the shape gave it away; of hastily reassuring her that there was nothing wrong with wearing padded bras but they messed up the measurement process and, would you be a dear and just... Instead, she would simply try to measure and hope Amy realized the problem herself. Loosening the tape, she raised her hands an inch or two, before placing the tape against the front of her breasts at their fullest part. She pulled back gently, feeling the sponginess of the material give slightly, watching Amy's breasts lift under the pressure, before raising her eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Oh, your bra is padded..."

"Is... is that a problem?" Amy asked.

"It is for measuring. I wear padded bras all the time, but they add... material... hard to get a good measurement..."

Amy nodded.

"I can take it off. One second."

Amy reached her arms back, forgetting for a moment that Sarah's own breasts were occupying the space behind her clasp. Her hands brushed Sarah's breasts, and Amy jumped.

"I'm so sorry!"

Sarah laughed, and pushed her hair behind her ears. She looked down at Amy's face and smiled.

"It's fine! An occupational hazard, sometimes. You're too quick."

Sarah stepped down from the dais, and indicated that Amy should continue. Amy opened the unobstructed clasp and slid the bra down her arms, catching it in her hands and holding it. Her breasts were soft and pale, even paler than the freckled skin of her chest, with two puffy, pink nipples. Gravity, pregnancies and age had taken some toll, Sarah mused. But they were perfectly lovely and exquisite. Sarah thought it was a shame to house such beautiful breasts in such a drab bra.

Amy didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, and Sarah noticed she stood up a little straighter when she realized Sarah was watching her in the mirror. Sarah returned to the dais and repeated the ritual, looping the tape beneath Amy's right arm and bringing her left hand around to grab it. She pulled the tape taut against Amy's naked breasts, placing it just beneath her nipples, and pulled it back around to complete the loop.

"You're a 34C."

"Also like you?" Amy asked with a friendly smile.

Sarah laughed again.

"Right you are. Maybe I should just let you raid my closet?"

"Ugh, would you?"

"I take it you don't buy much lingerie," Sarah said, stating the obvious now that they had built a rapport. She brought the tape down to measure Amy's waist.

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"What gave it away?"

"Well, you weren't sure about your size," Sarah said, lowering the tape again to her hips. "Doesn't exactly scream frequent buyer. What brought you to my shop?"

"It's

your

shop?"

Sarah nodded.

"Started two years ago," Sarah confirmed, brushing her hair behind her ears. "You're looking at a proud business owner."

Definitely an out of towner, Sarah thought. Unfamiliar with the chronic comings and goings of Bleecker Street retail establishments.

"That's so cool. I, uh... I did a bunch of research. I knew we were coming into the city for the hockey game, and shopping, and dinner, so I looked up boutiques and this one had good reviews, so... I figured you would know how to help a hopeless basket case like me!"

Sarah noted with some approval how much easier it was to talk to Amy now. Usually, people didn't open up only

after

they got naked. Yet the nervous, shifty woman who had come into the store mere minutes ago had now blossomed into a chatty, funny lady. Sarah liked her.

"We specialize in hopeless basket cases. Do you have any idea the type of thing you might like? Or what your husband might like?"

Sarah had remembered what brought Amy to Ravir in the first place. She was shopping with her husband in mind. That could be good or bad, she thought, in terms of making a selection. It would be for Sarah to guide the process, and make sure that whatever the rationale, she ultimately bought something that she herself felt good in. Sarah took another look at Amy's body, her shape, her curves, her carrot-colored hair, her blue-gray eyes, her pale skin.

"What I might like? No idea. What my husband might like? Also, no idea. Something... sexy, I guess? Is that stupid to say?"

"It's not," Sarah said, her voice full of reassurance and confidence. "Not at all. Well, I have your measurements. Why not wait here and I can select some items for you to try on? We'll have you feeling

sexy

in no time."

#

Sarah found Amy sitting on the sofa when she returned, applying chap stick, still wearing only her boyshorts. She hung four options on the hooks, spread out so Amy could see them clearly: a lavender babydoll, with an embedded bra and sheer body; a matching Carolina blue bra and thong panty set; a royal blue lace teddy with cut-out sides and a deep v-neck laced with crisscrossing strips of sheer fabric; and a black, half cup bustier in silk, with embroidered red rose detail.

"I've brought you four options to try, in a mix of colors and garment styles."

Amy dropped her chap stick into her bag and stood up, crossing her arms and reviewing the options. She covered her mouth and exhaled through her nose, pulling the babydoll off the hanger and rotating it. She lifted the garment over her head, placing her arms through the shoulders and letting it fall around her. Her hair clung to the back, and Amy ran the back of her hand beneath it, pulling it out with a swipe and letting it drape more naturally. Amy stepped up to the dais, and they looked.

"This is what's called a babydoll," Sarah said. "It's fitted at the breast with an unstructured bralette, and joined to a chiffon skirt that flows freely beneath. The skirt is sheer, and so you'll be able to see whatever you're wearing beneath it."

Sarah saw a beautiful woman turning gently on the dais, observing how the chiffon draped gently over her ass. Maroon boyshorts weren't the right complement, of course, and Sarah would have some recommendations if Amy liked the piece.

"And you just..." Amy said. "Wear this with whatever underwear?"

"You could. Or you could pair it with a matching color panty. Something else in lavender, or a darker shade of purple, for contrast."

Amy nodded slowly, turning again and studying her reflection. Sarah thought this could be a winner, and considered that she should have brought a purple thong along to illustrate.

"I can go find something to pair it with, if you like..."

"Maybe... Let's try the others, first."

Sarah helped Amy remove the babydoll, hanging it back on the hook while Amy retrieved the thong and panty set. She wore the bra first, fumbling with the unfamiliar clasp. The straps were too loose and the bra hung away from her body. Sarah moved in behind her, sliding the adjusters so the bra fit correctly. Amy then pulled down her boyshorts, facing toward the back corner of the room and away from Sarah's gaze. Sarah watched Amy bend down and step through the thong, sliding it up her pale legs and fitting it snuggly around her hips. The straps were meant to rest above the hips, Sarah knew, and would recommend readjustment in due course.

Amy returned to the dais and the two of them observed again.

"This is a contemporary bra and panty set," Sarah said. "100% silk. The designer is an Italian woman named Alessandra Auriemma, who has a studio in Milan. She rarely ships to the United States."

"This feels... I don't know. Kind of normal?"

Sarah doubted Amy had anything like it in her collection. The material was a custom matte silk blend, lush and luxurious. The cut flattered the wearer's figure, although the way Amy wore the panties sullied the effect. The straps stretched out wide, parallel to the ground, and made the whole arrangement look a little sloppy.

"Try pulling the straps up a bit," Sarah said, pantomiming the recommended action, "letting them rest above your hip about here."

Amy readjusted, sliding her fingers under the straps and pulling them upwards, letting them snap into place where Sarah had indicated. The improvement was obvious, and Amy nodded thoughtfully at this new reflection. In this position, the straps created separation between Amy's legs and torso, emphasizing the swell of her hips relative to the taper of her waist. Her legs looked longer; her waist smaller. She spun around on the dais, looking at her rear in the reflection. A thin triangle of Carolina blue fabric disappeared between the pale, shallow globes of her ass. Sarah had to admit to herself that it wasn't the most flattering look. The thong emphasized the lack of definition in her glutes. Sarah thought her ass would look just fine without them.

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