Window Shopping

by Abe Froman

© 2006

The following story is a work of fiction. It contains scenes of an adult nature, so if you are under 18, stop reading now. This story contains explicit sexual language and fantasies involving the mental and physical control of others. If you are offended by such activities, do not read any further. This is purely a fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.

This story – from inspiration to final text – is courtesy of my muse and my Lady, Miss Porcelaina Valeriana. It is dedicated to her and her wickedness and beauty.

Please send any comments/suggestions to me at froman.abe@gmail.com. They are appreciated and warmly received.

This story may be reposted or archived provided the following conditions are met:

1) The story is not altered in any way

2) The story contains my name and disclaimer

3) You do not make money from the story

There had been something about the depth of her eyes – a secret kept there – that had me fascinated from the moment I saw her in Starbucks. Her bright red lips looked amazing on the white porcelain mug for sure, and her body was perfectly curved under layers of leather and lace, but I was lost in her eyes.

My Saturday plans hadn’t really extended beyond my morning coffee and the paper, so there were no conflicts I had to worry about when I followed her out onto the street. The wonderful movement of her beautiful ass entranced me as she moved, wrapped up in a tight miniskirt. She was also wearing stockings with actual seams down the backs of her curvy legs. They were perfectly aligned. I realized that I was getting quite stiff, with my cock straining against my black jeans.

I wanted to see more of her eyes. I needed to.

She didn’t seem to be in any hurry either. She would frequently pause and look into shop window displays. I tried not to make it too obvious that I was following her, but I also wanted to see if I could get even a reflection of her eyes in shop front glass.

By the third store, I was getting more daring, or maybe just more desperate. I actually stopped nearly beside her, and searched the reflection for her eyes.

I nearly fainted when she turned and spoke to me.

“Do you like these?” she asked, and those lips, those perfect lips, curved into a smile.

I nearly panicked, since I hadn’t bothered to even notice what store we were in front of. But there were her eyes, looking right into mine. I blurted out, “Yes, yes, I do.”

“Really, that is very interesting. Will you come in with me?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she walked in. I had a moment to look in the window for real.

I dropped my head and shook in despair. It was a fucking lingerie shop. Oh sure, jackass, you love La Perla, you come here all the time.

A wise man, one in control of himself, or at least of his cock, would have just cut and run at that point. Write it off as a humiliating story to tell the boys over beer and be done with it. This man, however, had to see her eyes at least one more time, and I had grabbed to door to follow her in before it had even fully closed.

I felt strange, out of place, like all men do in lingerie shops when it’s not just before Christmas or Valentines Day. I just tried to stay close to this strange beauty, like I was with her, to explain away my presence to all those who were questioning it with their eyes.

She would occasionally point out little scraps of lace and silk to me, on tables, displays or even the display posters around the store, asking me if I liked them. I would always say yes, but I saw nothing but her eyes. She would pick up items now and again and carry them with her, buy my eyes never left her face.

I didn’t even flinch when she asked for my credit card at the cash desk. Any price was worth this heaven. To this day, I don’t recall what the total was.

She led me out, and she didn’t need to say another word, or ask me if I would follow her. Was it so obvious that I would do anything for those eyes?

She seemed to live in a large studio, above a store on a nearby street. It was busy, but not as trendy as where we had come from. The glimpses I caught of those around us seem to indicate a darker color of clothing.

I followed her up the stairs, and it was wonderful to see that few inches more of her stockings that this new angle allowed, before the seams disappeared into the wonderful darkness of her skirt.

Her studio was spotless, clean and sleek. Every piece of furniture seemed modern and expensive. She had impeccable taste.

She guided me to the centre of the living area, where a coffee table might have been if there had been one. She faced me, and locked those eyes onto mine.

“What is your name, my dear?”

“It is Edward.”

“Lovely. Strip, Edward.”

I silently obeyed, and in moments I was completely naked. I had managed to do it all without losing sight of her eyes, but for that split second I had to pull my t-shirt over my head. My jeans, shoes, socks and shirt were in a discarded pile beside me. I was a bit embarrassed, not just by being so exposed, but also because my cock was standing out ram-straight, leaving little question about my arousal.

“Very nice, Edward. I’m so glad you liked those pieces at La Perla. You have expensive tastes, even if they do tend a bit to the slutty look.”

She hadn’t asked a question, so I didn’t dare speak. I think I might have blushed a little redder.

“But, seeing you now, like this, I think your choices were dead on. So let’s get you dressed.”

I heard her words, with the pounding of my heart as background. Questions filled my mind. What had she bought? Did she actually buy women’s lingerie for me? Did she want me to wear it? What was happening to me?

These thoughts were my mind’s company during the trance-like state I must have been in for quite a while, since I only distantly felt her hands lifting one leg, then the other, or moving my arms where she might need them.

When she stood back, finished, she had pulled white stockings with pink trim up my legs and attached the little belts up to the matching pink lace garter belt. A pair of pink panties with a white lace trim had been put on over that, and somehow managed to stretch over my erection. The pink brassiere looked particularly silly, I thought, and it didn’t help much when she pushed embarrassingly realistic fake breasts into them. The tightest piece was a scalloped waist-cincher in white satin and pink trim, which she had laced me so tightly into that I was having a bit of trouble breathing.

She circled me, and I was panicking for those moments I couldn’t see her eyes. I suppose she determined a few more touches were needed, since it was after that pass that she added white lace gloves and a matching lace choker. She then rubbed a wonderful lotion over me, reaching all my exposed skin. I looked down for a second, following the touch of her hands, and I noticed that my skin sparkled now – I glittered.

My hair is short, so she had no trouble pulling the wig onto me, with its long blond curls. After that was make-up – I had to plump my lips for the lipstick, and the mascara made me blink a lot at first. It was also hard to balance in the high-heeled shoes she had put on my feet.

“Your skin in a little pale for white lingerie. Come.”

I stumbled at first, but I got the hang of it quickly, trying to very consciously walk on my heels then toes. Going down the back stairs was the hardest.

She let me into a small room that had thick curtains on all the walls – they even pulled closed over the door we came in through.

“Don’t mind the restraints, they are just to keep you from moving too much during the tanning process.”

I noticed the darkened sun-lamps then, all around me, but not yet on. I had to spread my legs a bit to reach the locations of the cuffs chained to the rings in the floor, as she closed them around my ankles. The ones for my hands, dangling over me, meant I had to lift my arms high and wide. I was spread out like an X, and I was sure I would get a complete tan this way. But what about the lingerie?

“Since I can’t be with you in here, I thought you might like this.”

She pulled down a small television screen and turned it on. I was a recording of her face – not just a still image, as her would blink now and again, and her smile would change. I realized she had to leave, and in these circumstances, I guess this was the next best thing. Her eyes were so entrancing. I was starting into that screen when she left, closing the curtain over the door.

“Okay, my Edward, the lights will be coming on now. They are quite strong, so you should have some pretty tan-lines in no time,” her voice was crystal clear out of the speakers that seemed to surround me.

The lights blazed on all at once. I had to close my eyes as it was blindingly bright. It was hot as well, and I began to glisten with sweat as well as with the applied glitter.

A few minutes into the tanning, I was able to slowly blink my eyes open. I ached to get back to her eyes in the screen, her face smiling down on me. I needed it.

I was so relieved to see her face again, even recorded, that it took some time to realize that the curtain on the wall in front of me was now open. Another agonizing moment elapsed before I realized that the glass behind that curtain was the storefront window of the shop below her studio. There were silhouettes I could barely make out passing by, pausing, staring, and clearly enjoying the show she had made of me.

I’m sure I couldn’t be missed, bathed in bright light, stretched out in white and pink lace. How could this have happened? I was completely unable to move, and every minute burned the memory of these humiliating clothes onto my skin.

My eyes were red, and I had to constantly blink away my tears. After all, I still had to see her eyes.

Chapter Two

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