M1...

Wandering.

I ambled purposeless. Something, whose physical aspect pinched my stomach and whose mental aspect expressed itself in a restlessness rendering any activity empty, kept bugging me. Every half hour, back in my room to review my dresses for a swap, the futility of the change stopped the action. The new attire did not satisfy the basic impulse behind the dissatisfaction with my actual clothing. The repeating sequence included avoidance of a part of the closet and ransacking of the underwear drawer.

In this specific occurrence, my interest for the short dress, tenant of the ignored part of the closet, crashed in my mind. Two weeks ago, on the day of my daughters departure to college, quite ashamed by the purchase at the time, I had bought, on impulse, this quite unusual dress and never thought about it until now. The sale person, who pushed me into it, glimpsed a piece of me well hidden heretofore. Truth must be told that, at time, images of my dress, lifted in a street to encourage some stranger to push me under a porch for a quickie, helped my husband to gain his pleasure. Truth must also be said that it never went beyond brushing my mind. The dress, in the depth of the closet, injects a deliciously frightening reality to an evanescent fantasy while I peek through the lingerie drawer. Choosing suitable underwear's becomes my next order of business. Unfortunately a meager number of frillies inhabited my drawers, mainly white small panties, shaped to wear without being noticed under taut pants or some old fashion blue with laces. The finding almost nixed wearing the dress for lack of adequate match. Still the uncertainty dominating my morning evaporated, like morning dew, under the dress position in the center stage. I stopped worrying about the underwear and took off my clothes, except for the shoes, reveling in the mirror reflection of my curves. My abundant pubic hair did not hide the hood of my clit. The sight of my engorged labia, separated enough to uncover the sensible bud, solved the mystery behind my morning fog. The obvious sexual nature of the physical pinch around my stomach colored my face. The nagging pain ended up as pure arousal! How often did I scold my children for confusing anger with hunger? My finger emerged back all sticky from the depth of my pit. Resisting the temptation of masturbating right away, I put on a strap less bra imagining the male voice of the man of my phantasm ordering my moves. My hips slow revolution changed the angles of reflection of my crotch. Each turn, propping up my arousal, widens the divide between my outer lips until the heavy opalescence, enveloping the access to my depth, flashes. My mood swung toward the blue panties, which elastic fabric revealed the contour of what it was supposed to hide. The dress came on top. Shoulder discovered to the middle of my breast and helm above the knee, I went shopping for the right underwear.

Outside the male's look on the exposed portion of my body make me feel depraved, available and crazy. My search for a quick adventure weakens my legs. What if one of them decoded my spirit and steered me into some discreet place to inspect my pussy? Could I resist his advances? Under the panties the amazing softness suffusing my flesh called for it. Fortunately no one could see it, nor know my weakened state of mind. On my quest, I sat at a cafe to nibble some salad. My order was on its way when our locked gazes initiated a simultaneous smile with a beautiful man facing me two tables away. The irruption of a real encounter in my dream accelerated my heartbeat. His tender eyes touring graciously my dress, down to the top of my skirt on my slightly parted legs, triggered an immediate fastening of my knees. His face, forming into an almost childish, incredibly cute pout, blows out my control. My heart, beating madly in my bosom, resonated in my ears when I pulled my knee back further than any Lady would. His expression reverted to one of hope and delight. This man played the assigned role. In a stupor I waited for his lead. Was he going to come seat at my table? Was he going to disappear like in a dream? My knees, far enough from each other, to let his gaze decipher the details of some very personal blue fabric, conveyed the extremely unusual emotions whirling around my innards when I seek his mien. His pantomime, lewdly licking his lips with his tongue, imparts to the world his appreciation of his coffee and to me, his appetite for the substance behind the blue fabric. His expression, engaging in nature, demanded the removal of my panties. Even if I could discreetly push them down what was I suppose to do with them after they were outside of the dress cover? Still jarred with the station of my knees, I could not publicly slip my hands under the dress to glide them down. The idea reverberated in the softness under my waist but my phantasm had privacy and discretion in it. My face must have reflected my dilemma because he suggested the bathroom to me. The obviousness of the solution jolts my confused mind, birthing a new wave of blush on my cheeks. I ate some of my salad to recover some peace and quash the devil but after some mouthful the evidence of my attraction lingered. I could not refuse him. An irresistible aura of power and gift painted the impersonation of my phantasm. His upset at the delay discomforted my lunch. The surge took over. I stood, leaning a little bit too long to grab my purse on the floor to offer him a peek at my cleavage as a tribute for the wait, and walked to the bathroom. The door safely closed after me, I removed the panties without forgetting to pee and flush to look perfectly common. The odoriferous fabric tarrying in my bag instead of around my bottom provided a thrilling chill. The air brushing around my free pussy's hair absolved the indecent gushing of my feminine part. The contact of my foundations on the seat had a peppery taste. Up until now I could still deny any indecent attitude. Smiles and need to pee with one's bag is common thing. Any sexual meaning given to our encounter from his part would be only one more proof of male piggyness attitude. Eating heartily my salad I avoided any contact with his gaze until the last mouthful. Then the severity of his expression uncrossed my legs in a snap clearing the view to my bush. From that point, I was under his spell. His pleasure at the last act of my performance pulsed directly in my lower belly. His finger, grazing his lips in a curious pattern, commanded some unfathomable action. My knees, already as far apart as they could go without attracting undue attention from the other customers, will not budge. All the mime Marceau face in the world will not spread my knee further apart. He could see it all already. Again it hit me. The way his finger played with its lips portrayed my fingers on my lips deep there. The crudeness of his request dawns on me. My finger will not separate my pussy lips. He could feed his libido on the black forest at the top of my thigh but my hands stayed above the table. My determination must have shown. He prepared to leave. My countenance expressed begging for him to stay. He responded with a sign showing some impatience mixed with a lot of eagerness to see the requested move. The hands were too much for me to handle. I compromised on a discreet up and down move of my hips, enhanced with some open and close of my knees, which propelled in his field of vision the depth of my cleft. Appeased that I was enough of a slut for him, he sat at my table:

"Hello crinkly bush, I'm Sir James."

His baffling introduction subdued me for at least twenty seconds before I responded:

"Nice to meet you Sir James."

"Do you often let people under your panties?"

"First time in my all life."

"What is so special today, crinkly bush?"

"Some restlessness compelled me to pick up that short dress."

"I'm your fantasy Curly bush?"

"Yes Sir James, you personify some wild dream."

"You went for a walk to find the man of your dream?"

"Not really, it took me a long time to choose the dress."

"Confusing story Curly bush, tell me all about it, do not let anything out."

"Well Sir James, as I said, I was restless running around the house until I figured out that I had to put this dress which shortness you already know and which substantial cleavage you saw in detail."

After an extended silence he probed her to continue:

"And..."

"Sir James I'm kind of embarrassed to give you detail but I got here and you triggered the end."

"Tell me those details. Let me hear what brings such a beauty to this extreme behavior. You showed me your pussy without much hesitation, sweetie, now you would think of me as a beast if I had no interest for your motives."

"Well, Sir James, none of my underwear fitted the dress. So I went hunting for some."

"A great idea, I will help you choose something interesting and see more of you at the same time. Still we need to get the story out. Don't skip my dear. You figured out your intention with the dress."

"Well I stripped and danced for me in the mirror. It occurred that the stomach hick was in fact arousal. Sir James, I'm quite distressed now. A phantasm is supposed to stay in one's mind. You may push me beyond my comfort level. I will not do anything you ask."

"Showing your pussy is easier than tell me the facts. You stray from this morning story."

"I don't think about it myself."

"Well you got yourself in an adventure. I will demand anything I fancy. I may, on rare occasions like some minutes ago, accept your replacement proposal. In any circumstances, at this point, nothing binds us together. Any of the two can split at will. Beware that as we go the pain of the separation may sting harder. Remember, you are crinkly bush and I'm Sir James."

"Yes Sir James but Marylou also needs some attention."

"We will strive to give her some space if she is not too defiant. Anyway today I will not touch your skin. Shall we go?"

"I will follow you Sir James."

They walked silently until James ask her:

"How do you like your first day panties less under a skirt?"

"Nobody can see."

"The dress is short and I know. The fact could be easily divulged."

"No, not in the street."

"Aren't we worried, audacious one? Still tell me the effect of the novelty or do you often walk around in such a vulnerable state?"

"Definitely my first occasion Sir James."

"Give me the scoop Curly bush and stop avoiding the issue. I do have ways to pressure you."

"I do feel vulnerable, uncomfortable and dependent."

"Shy with word and bold with actions! Describe the physical elements of panties less ambulation."

The missing panties let much too many sticky secretions down my thigh. His hand, at the top of my posterior, absorbs too much of my concentration for a real conversation. Will he lower it to a more incriminating zone? I expected and dreaded it at the same time. In my phantasm the man drags me into a secluded public area to take me, without talking or walking. The defenselessness of my access gave to this scenario an aspect possible, although he had ruled it out when declaring my skin out of touch, which dangerously aroused me. The real formulation of my mind I knew I was going to keep for myself. I had renounced mastery on my body already, but not on my thought.

"Mainly you keep asking questions."

His hand transited to a more incriminating position.

"Now you look really worried! We may have some audience when you strip to model the lingerie."

"Sir James, I'm intrigued and overwhelmed by my position in your phantasm and I need to set some limits for the game. Could you please adjust your hand a little bit up?"

He did, lifting the skirt in the process.

"Please Sir James, let the dress down. I'm too tense."

"Good girl, you ask without moving away. I may be demanding but I will not yell nor be physical in any way. Today I will not touch your skin. You have control of what you do. The sluttish nature of your being controls you. Back to the contention point, what's cooking between your legs?"

"You will know soon enough."

His hand pushed the helm of her skirt above her mid thigh. She could not move away. The decision to strip her bottom right there and now belonged to him.

"Answer the question before it goes too far."

"Something drips down my thigh if you have to be crude."

Her face glowed with heat. His hand left her body.

"Curly bush, do you like your body?"

"Honestly I'm happy with my stomach, legs and butts. The shoulder and breast area emit less balance but I live OK with it."

"Soon you will give me a chance to check it all out. Should I keep you posted on my opinion?"

"You take me for granted already!"

"Pretty much Curly bush, pretty much."

"How can I follow meekly such a conceited fool?"

"Curly bush, a man, lucky enough to be a phantasm at first glance, takes his admirers emotions with respect. Specially the lovely ones he hopes to strip soon."

"Still you are too sure of yourself."

"Only of what you give me honey. You cringe but you keep going."

"What if I stopped?"

"I would loose you to my dismay. Do you plan such a mean thing?"

"You are the mean one."

"Curly bush you are the lovely one."

"Thank you Sir James and you can keep your impressions on my body for yourself if you ever see any more of it."

"Still going strong honey!"

In the lingerie shop his familiarity with the sales lady surprised me completely. He presented me as a new acquaintance in need of underwear. Her accepting presence and their complicity froze my reactions at the level of a stupidly smiling and nodding amoeba approving his description of our encounter. Ambling along the shelf, he pointed various item to ask her advice, upon which seem the more appropriate for my shape. The lady casually asserts him the benefit of a full view of my figure before taking a stand on the matter, casting me as a peon for the purpose of modeling his choices. Two intense gazes made me the center of attention.

"Curly bush, loosing your dress would facilitate our task."

My heart thumped avidly in my bosom. The immediate emptiness of the shop, as lucky as it looks, did not preclude the entry of some new customer. The missing panties weighted heavily on my attitude. I resolved to simply state my impression looking at her:

"Someone may get in and you will be in trouble."

"Miss, don't worry for my business. A quick peek will do for now. Lift it up. You will have plenty of time to let it down if the door buzz."

Her well-rounded answer took away any argument left in me; still I stood idle between them:

"Go on Curly bush you already look like a ripe tomato. Deliver on your promise to see for myself the expanse above the helm."

The joyful energy of his tone triggered my action. Soon the helm of my skirt circled my waist.

"Higher sweet heart, don't be shy, give us the full curve to pick the best package."

His voice and his stern expression left no choice. The helm reached my shoulder. The lady extracted her measuring tool from her pocket, quickly applying it in sequence to my thigh and my waist.

"Sweet heart let me remove the bra."

My hands, busy holding the dress, could not physically oppose her move. His face demands compliance with her actions. Her expert action unclips the bra to free my bosom. Both took some distance to appreciate plainly the picture.

"The dress on your shoulder looks quite ridiculous my dear."

"Sir somebody may get in."

"What kind of trouble will it is for you, my dear?"

"I don't want anybody to see me naked."

"Kind of late for this style of consideration! Get used to it, Curly bush and take it off. See the way to the changing room?"

The sale lady indicated a door in the far end of the shop.

"You will run in there if somebody comes in. Now stop arguing and take it off quickly."

They had tricked me into it. I opened my mouth for a long argument about sneaky trick to void a woman natural modesty but his finger on his mouth stopped my words from coming out. Furious with my own weakness, I pass the dress over my head, keeping it in my hand, crossed over my breast.

"Hand on your head, beauty. Turn around slowly."

I executed his request, adjusting to my inability to refuse him anything. The joy in his eyes paid back my humility. I could not find any comfortable position with that dress in my hand. I hated my bra in her hands. Pointing to a design of panties:

"Those will be perfect for the organization of her vee until she trim her bush. Don't you agree?"

Their look focuses intensely on the junction of my legs. He insisted on it:

"Knee apart would be nice in your situation, Curly bush."

I proceed, already beyond reason. An acute sensation of swollenness had invaded the area between my legs. He knew I knew and I feared his remark about it. He had won when setting the limit at my skin.

"Yes Sir."

"Yes, the size will perfectly wrap her labia after she cleaned up her bikini a little bit. Turn around my dear to judge the other side. The back will be absolutely perfect, cutting exactly in the middle of her buttocks. Let me see the front to back length."

With that she stick the measuring tape between my legs front the top of my hair to the top of my back cheeks if I was to believe the pressure of her finger.

"Perfect, we do have her size in stock. Curly bush, if Sir James agrees, I'd rather set you up in the dressing room. You are too fidgety without dress in the shop."

I followed her in a large room with three full length mirrors in the center and armchair at the peripheries. I understood immediately my place close to the chairs to be seen and with enough space between the mirror and me to see me as well. As soon as I stood in the right spot she left. The catch was that anyone occupying the other spot would enjoy my figure as well. The rules of nudity seem to be different in Sir James world than in mine. My presence in this room depends on him. He personifies the man of this morning ordering me around while I watched me in the mirror. I did peek in the mirror. The glistening rosy lines between my curly bush tattles the pervert satisfaction I gained from my position. The acceptation of his position as my master falls on me at this very moment. I wanted it and he will abuse it. His self interdiction to touch my skin provided enough protection to entirely jump in the role. During the following half hour I modeled for him corsets, teddies and a set of underwear. My complete submission to his request seems to satisfy him. He bought me various pieces before engaging me to put back my panties, bra and dress. We exited from the room. In the middle of the shop, I had my bag in my hand when he asked:

"Curly bush, Shall we pursue our relationship?"

"I whish so, Sir James."

"Turn around my dear."

Quite surprised, I did offer him my back.

"Bend with your hand on your knees."

Flushing red, I silently obeyed his command.

"Spread your leg a little bit, hesitant one."

He pulled up my dress on my back and pulled down my panties to the middle of my thigh until the spread of my leg blocked their trajectory. A cold plastic object found an easy way to my interiors without him touching any part of my skin. Cautiously he pulled my panties back up.

"Stand up."

I did and turned around, completely flushed, to face him.

"Go back home and masturbate for me. Then take it off. Here is my card. Call me if you need more."

The walk is exhausting and the powerful masturbation finishes only minutes before my husband came back home.