As I arrive at the boutique, I wonder what lacy bits will entice me. I adore sexy undergarments and how they send my sexual senses on high alert. I pass an impeccably dressed gentleman in a black suit near the entrance. I’m sure our pheromones mingled. He notices me, and his dark eyes make me shiver.
Heading for the bra and panty sets, I realize he is the only man in the store. Sorting through colorful satins and lace, he ignores all the fellow shopper’s gawks. His penetrating stare follows me as I pick out items. His presence is all encompassing and makes me feel good, woman good. Clearly, his likes and wants are well-established, and he has exquisite taste. Two can play this game. As he admires an exotic, black bustier, my sassy little southern-self sashays over.
“Excuse me. I’m choosing an indulgence for myself, and I’m not sure which to select.” I hold up the two items in my hand. “Would you give me an honest opinion?”
Behind him, the dorky, store clerk at the register raises her eyebrows, gives me thumbs up and fans her face.
Sexy hunk flashes a disarming smile. “North or South?
“Your accent. North Carolina or South Carolina?
“Why North, thank you. You have a keen ear.”
“I’m into details.” He scans my entire body. Just like a magician performing a disappearing act, I feel like my clothes vaporized. “For a real appraisal, I’d have to see it on you.”
Was that a dare? Is he pushing my sass?
“Well, okay then, sir, I’ll take these to the dressing room.” He raised an eyebrow. Did I just agree to model these tiny bits for a hot, stranger? I may have flirted myself beyond my comfortable sexual element and perhaps out of my league.
He follows me toward the dressing room. I turn, gazing into a set of all-knowing eyes and a scruffy face that makes me hot and bothered. He is so, not my usual, guy next door pick. He’s a gentleman, cultured and distinct with an edge about him. “You wait out here.” His nod provides no assurance, and now I’m unglued.
Removing my clothes, I select the teddy. By lingerie accounts, it is conservative, my typical style. Ready for his thoughts, I push the door open. He peruses me. I feel every discerning aspect as if his eyes were hands tantalizing my skin.
“You look lovely, but your assets are hidden. Try this; I believe it will suit you.” He holds out a hanger. His wicked grin turns my knees to jelly and my southern lady parts throb. That little smirk tells me he knows something I don’t. What is it about a dare? I always go for them.
“Great. Thank you.” I snatch the hanger.
“If you need any help, I’m right out here,” he said and pointed to the chair across the way. Damn. He delivers his precise words with an understated command and control which showcases art and science.
After closing the door, I remove the teddy. It’s official. I have lost my mind. I am buck-naked less than five feet from this random, enticing gentleman who has selected silky undies for me. I retrieve the hanger containing a two piece bra and panties thing. As I hold it up, I want to slap my big mouth that works before my brain. There isn’t enough material to fit around my breasts. I struggle with all the ribbons on the bottom and how they attach. He must enjoy tying things up. I freak out when I see my reflection. Nothing is left to the imagination. The reality of what I’m doing hits me, or maybe my good girl side raised her nagging head.
“Hmm, this isn’t me,” I stammer as his footsteps approach the dressing room.
“It is perfect for you. I can help you get it situated.”
My heart sprints and my crotch plays some fast Latin number. You’ve gone this far. You don’t back down from anything, even this. It may be new, but you can do this. I open the door to a set of smoldering gaze brands me as he steps into the changing room. This gorgeous stud assesses strips of material dangling off my body, covering mostly nothing. I have no moisture in my mouth; it’s all headed south. I am in heaven, and it is blistering as hell.
“Well, you are twisted up. Turn around.”
As I turn, the mirror reflects a fully clothed him and a barely covered me. My breathing falters. He raises both his hands, firm and broad, in the air and his finger gestures at my back where I have tangled the bra clips. I nod yes.
I breathe in his potent maleness as his fingertips work to adjust my attire. He unclips, straightens, and re-clips the bra like a male well-versed in women’s sexy foundations. After smoothing the band on my back, he continues around the front band under my breasts. His thumbs graze me. My nipples pop out like dough released from of biscuit can, seen through this sheer bra. He observes me as if he is anticipating a response. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. Dark eyes probe mine. He eliminates ribbon twists on the shoulder straps. His touch greets every sensual nerve ending on my body. He works diligently preparing something, and that something is me.
“And now the bottom,” he said.
He looks to the panties, “You are going to have to step out of those.”
I almost swallow my tongue. How ironic. I have to pull up my big girl panties to push the erotic ones down. Is he always this proficient at divesting women of their intimates? Well, I’m not stopping now. When I bend over, my ass shoves into him, and his thick erection startles me. I look up, and the intensity of his gaze causes me to shudder. I have throbs where I didn’t know I had places. He knows what he is doing to me. His smile signals intent. Yes, I’m pretty sure he’d be proficient at licking, sucking, fingering, and fucking me.
Taking the panties, he unties the ribbons.
“Hold this to your belly.” How can one guy know so much about affixing lingerie? He squats, eye to eye with my ass. Holy hell. With his face between my legs, he exhales on my skin as he reaches through and grasps the panties. I reek of sexual excitement; my scent arouses me. The back of his hand slides by my vulva lips, touching me ever so slightly. He pulls the panties through and up as he rises. He sniffs his hand. Mortified and turned on, that’s me.
When he stands, dominance emanates from him.
“Turn.” Sideways, he ties the ribbons on my right side. He leans in over my right shoulder and admires my cinched up breasts. His hard cock nestles in my ass. My heart races and he groans, “Done.” He tilts his head right and left studying me. “One last inspection.”
My needy sex squeaks. “Yes, sir.”
He evaluates every angle where the fabric touches my skin. His finger traces the lace edge of the bra cup again and smooths the band. I imagine his thumb pads on my aching nipples, and I grit my teeth. He crouches in front of me, eye level with my hairless sex. Oh, my God. I hold my breath.
He adjusts the ribboned lace of crotchless panties so that my engorged vulva lips and clit protrude. I should bottle the fragrance of horny me mixed with him for a potent elixir and sell it. He is so close to my sex he could stick out his tongue and taste me. Do it. Do it. I know he sees my secret, a new piercing, never seen by anyone. He looks up, grins at me and stands. He finishes his inspection by moving me to face the mirror as he smooths the panties lace line, and he fingers the open heart design of the ribbon bow on my ass. His touch tingles on my skin. I am captivated.
The erotic tension mounts in this small space as we stand there drinking each other in, neither one moving.
Flustered words sail from my mouth. “Thank you—for everything.”
Appearing comfortable with the tension, he lingers for a few seconds. What is he thinking? I’m not moving, sir. I can’t take this any farther. My heart, matching my pelvic throbs, is beating so loudly the whole world must hear it.
Finally, he speaks. “It was my pleasure.” With one last, long look, he exits.
I collapse against the door panting. In the mirror, a sex siren stares back at me, not the woman who entered this room. I experience myself through his intense eyes, touch, and a devilish smirk.
Did this event happen?
I blow out a long breath. Dare I relieve my horniness before I begin to dress? Hell, yes. No one has ever worked me up like this. I replay every second of our encounter as I use my hand, wishing it was his. Sizzling and sexy in the lingerie he picked out for me, in the tiny space that holds the essence of our exchange, I orgasm.
When my heart rate slows, I dress and gather my purchases.
As I approach the cashier, she scrutinizes me. “Wow, I bet you have some story to tell.”
My embarrassed flush burns.
“He helped me pick out lingerie.” What a lame response.
“Well, okay, if that’s what you want to call it. Your helper asked me to give you this.” She holds out a business card. “And just so you know, he never gives out his card.”
I take it and stare at the written words.
“Southern Belle, I know what you did. I want you to do it for me. Wear your purchase on Saturday night. Call for time and location.”
I flip the card over.
Writing for Masturbation Monday during Masturbation Month. There is plenty of hotness there, go see.