Dress

The Dress – Crewcut

Jelena, I bet you just didn’t know how surprised you looked when I walked into that shop! I knew you were working there. Your mother had told mine, and she told me when I went home for Easter. The way that word gets round in home towns. A lovely job, my mum said. You were training to become chief buyer for the whole chain. In the meantime, there you were, selling formal wear for party gals.

I was paid that day and I thought what better way to celebrate the first week in a permanent job than really splash out on an outfit for my best friend’s wedding. Oh, I see, you thought I went there to seek YOU out? “You’re so vain, and you prob’ly think this story’s about you!” You are right!

You didn’t even acknowledge you knew me when I walked in. “Can I help you?” you asked. Professionally, cool, but that look on your face betrayed you.

“I need a rather special outfit, I’m going to a party Saturday night,” I answered.

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Then your eyes twinkled and said, “You’ve come to the right place then.”

You, helping me! After all that had happened 5 years ago. Yeah, you helped YOURSELF that time, babe. Helped yourself to Steve Saunderson, my steady of 2 years! Snatched him from right off my arm the week before our graduation formal. “Bitch,” I called you. “Did you fuck him? Hey? You dirty slut,” I said to you in the corridor, didn’t I!

So what were you doing here smiling at me? What was I doing coming in here? Before I could retreat, you were steering me towards some racks of clothes. I let you select some, I chose two myself, and then I followed you into the change room. “You need any help, just call,” you invited, as you hung them on the peg.

The ones I had chosen I dismissed immediately. I hadn’t even looked at them as I picked them up. Because, Jelena, my eyes were all for you! God, do you know what you did for me right then? What had happened to your hair since school? This store must be pretty cool to employ shaven-headed women with a tongue stud. When had the ponytail been shorn? How often did you have to clipper your hair to keep it 1/8 inch all over?

I shrugged off my jeans and sweatshirt. I picked up the first dress you had selected. Deep burgundy, a clinging jersey fabric. I stepped into it and discovered I wouldn’t be able to fasten the 35 pearl buttons down the back, from below the shoulder blades, where the deep “v” of the back of the dress finished, to just above my ass crack. Ok, ok, ok. I steadied myself and buzzed. You took your time getting there, is all I can say.

You entered and stood there, that enigmatic, slightly frowning, smile appraising me. Without a word, you stood behind me and unhooked my bra. “You will find,” you said, “you can’t wear underwear with this dress. Any panties or bra will ruin the line. Stretch fabrics are unforgiving.”

You pulled the dress down from my shoulders and reached round to remove my bra. As you did, my nipples hardened and you brushed lightly against them. Did your palms actually touch them, or was there merely a magnetic reaction from me? I closed my eyes, tried to remain steady on my feet. The bra was off. You pushed up the shoulder fabric of the dress and then pulled the long skirt up to my hips. Before I could take a breath, your hands were in my panties, removing them. Your hands lingered on my butt cheeks, just a moment longer than I could retain composed. I perceived a growing dampness between my legs.

After removing my underwear you fastened the buttons, lingering over those closest to my ass, tickling my flesh as you pulled the buttons through the eyes. Only then did you turn me round to face you. You ran your hands over the fabric, smoothing it across my breasts, tummy and pussy. It clung to my pussy. You could just perceive the mound of Venus. You stroked across the fabric several times, smoothing any minute tucks of cloth. You pinched my nipples, made the nipple ring in my left nipple stand out, and declared, “A dress like this is meant to display your assets.”

Jeez, I blushed then, and turned my head away.

“I forgot to ask what kind of party you are going to. Perhaps this dress is unsuitable?” you asked. I said it was for the wedding of a close friend. I kinda thought it was a bit raunchy for a wedding, but I LOVED it. “Oh, a wedding! What will your partner be wearing?”

I replied, “It was to be a hired tux, but my partner has been called away on business and can no longer go with me!”

“Oh, dear,” you said, “a lonely belle at the ball.” I hated you saying that. Were you referring to the school formal those years ago? But, I looked at you and you didn’t seem to be taking any malicious delight in that statement.

“It’s fine, I said.” And then I found myself saying, “No matter, we are breaking up anyway. Work has come between us, and we basically live in different cities.”

“How are you going to wear your hair?” you asked. I said I had an appointment with the in-store hair stylist next. You said, “It’s my break now, I’ll go with you and we can find a style that matches the dress.” I climbed back into jeans and sweatshirt, but left my underwear off. Truth to tell, I couldn’t FIND it! Had you accidentally picked it up when you took the other dresses back out?

We sat together looking at the books of styles. I had long hair, a mousy brown colour, and messy. It was a layered cut that had grown out and was merely straggly. Jennifer Aniston hair takes ages to keep looking good, and I never paid that much attention to my hair! I was ready for a change. I rejected the book of long styles and started leafing through the short ones. VERY short ones.

“Oh, you like these do you?”

I started to say I was attracted to the shaved look like her, and almost extended my hand to touch it, when you held up a picture and said, “This one!” with such certainty that I merely nodded assent.

After shampooing I sat in the stylist’s chair. You introduced me to her, and mentioned that you often worked together to help a client achieve the best look for a particular outfit or purpose. She mixed the dye and after an hour I had deep, chestnut brown hair. The perfect shade to set off the burgundy dress. I noticed that you were paying meticulous attention to every detail. The stylist then picked up the clippers and I heard them pop into life. You stood, came close and took over completely – instructing the stylist what to do! First I was shorn bare on the nape. The stylist pushed my head down onto my chest – a chest with two breasts with extremely hard nipples. I felt the clipper hum and bite at the neck, and felt tresses of hair falling onto my shoulders, sliding down my body onto the floor and resting on my lap. I sneaked a look and saw the clippers working around my ears. They left no sideburns other than the naturally occurring outline of hair on the hairline.

She stopped and changed guards on the clippers and graded the hair into the crown and top of my head, and at the front it was slicked down with gel to form a wet little-boy look. It looked great, and complemented effectively the boldness of the dress. I could don a tux and achieve a switch to butch! Just as I like. Keep ’em guessing, I always think!

You smiled enigmatically, and thanked the stylist.

Time to go back and try on the dress to see the overall effect. This time you stayed while I undressed. You watched as I pulled my sweatshirt over my head. You watched as I unzipped my jeans and stepped out of them. You watched as I raised my arms above my head, thrusting my tits, nipples hard as rocks, outwards, in order to pull the dress over my head.

You went through the same routine as before, except this time you lingered on the crack of my ass with the tip of your finger. Traced it up and down and hooked it slightly underneath towards my pussy slit. But then you were again at the front, pulling where it had bunched between my legs, out from my crotch. Holding your hand against my cunt. You reached inside the front and fondled my tits into place. I was a quivering heap of lust, but you were not staying long enough in any place to fulfil any potential. You were, in short, teasing me! As I said, you always were a whore!

Suddenly you leant over and pressed a button above the door. Almost immediately the stylist from the salon appeared, clasping a pair of manual hair clippers! You said to me “I am afraid that for this dress to achieve its fullest potential, we must make a small adjustment to the way it falls around your mound. I assure you it will complement the effect perfectly.” I gasped, but by now was mesmerised by your words, helplessly in your control.

You pulled the dress back over my head so I was standing there naked. With that you pushed back the wall between the fitting room and another room. You lead me to a tilted chair, and positioned me in it so my cunt was fully exposed. Still dispassionately, without a flicker of emotion, you indicated to the stylist to begin. She ran her clippers firmly but carefully across the hair on my mound, trimming it close, but not bare. She tidied up the bikini line and ensured there were no stray hairs where my legs met my thighs. In one area, right near my wet vaginal entrance she left the longest tendril of pubic hair. Into these she wove glass beads and extensions! On the end of the longest extension she threaded a cluster of beads.

The stylist left, and once again I was alone with you! I turned my head away slightly, and as I did, you plunged the bead cluster into my hole! The smaller beads glinted around the entrance. You then pulled me to my feet. As I walked, I could hear the faint “clack, clack” of the small beads as they came together. And of course I could feel the larger cluster inside my cunt. My clit was aching to be stroked, but all stimulation was tantalizingly, excrutiatingly just out of range.

I was shocked, but absolutely delighted.

I paid and left, and you, you slut, never acknowledged that you knew me. “Have a great party. I hope the couple are very happy.”

Saturday night and I was dressed to kill. Anna and Christine declared their love for each other in front of us all, and were blessed by wicca, bestowed by Shantilla. Christine had been my roomie at college. Anna’s cousin led the toasts. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She wore a tailored suit of spun silk. Draped trousers, and jacket. Underneath she wore a skin-tight burgundy jersey top with a plunging neckline that allowed her magnificent breasts to be exposed to just below the nipples. In each nipple she wore jewellery that exactly matched the beads woven against my cunt! Funny how I never knew Anna had a cousin named Jelena!

Anna “introduced” me to you. She’d told you a month ago she knew the “perfect” woman for you. Had told you my name. Hinted at my imminent single status!

We danced, holding each other tight, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths hungrily. Your stud scraped across my lips, my inside cheeks. You were so adept at curling the hard metal away from my flesh as you kissed my eyelids. By now, hot, you had shrugged off your jacket, and your breasts pressed against mine. My nipple ring made an impression right through to your top! You “smoothed” my dress across my ass as you held me on the dance floor. My thighs were wet with juice; the juice mingled with the beads and hair, and the cluster was barely large enough to stay in my expanding, throbbing cunt. Eventually it dropped out with a loud “clack” and you took that as your cue.

The party was held at a city hotel. We left for my room together after farewelling the love-declared couple on their holiday to Lesbos. The other women all watched, smiling, as we left, hand in hand.

As I turned the key in my door, I whispered “Slut!” in your ear, and you smiled, then laughed, so openly and joyously that I pulled you immediately onto the bed. We tore each other’s clothes off, and entwined our bodies in the ecstasy of passion. Our hands were on and in each other, our mouths bruising lips, sucking nipples, flicking clits and making come. I sat on your face and gyrated my hips as your tongue pressed flat and thick along my clit and slit, and then deeply, firmly, in and out my cunt. Your index finger fucked my ass and I screamed my orgasm. You rolled me over on to all fours and banged me with your magic dildo. Oh beautiful girlcock, fucking a receptive slippery and wet hole, pulsing with pleasure. I lay under you as you licked my cunt, and I reciprocated simultaneously, all over your pleasure spots.

I woke you a few hours later, after we had drifted into a sleep of contentment. You said no one had ever woken you by gently, then insistently, tongue-massaging your clit to orgasm.

Anna and Christine didn’t dare believe they would be hosting our commitment ceremony the following summer, but when you told me that you only “stole” Steve on the eve of the high school formal so that I wouldn’t spend my last days in town fucking him, I melted all over again.

Until then you didn’t know I loved you all along. I never guessed you felt as I did. I never fucked a boy at all. Sure, I had girlfriends at college, but when my mother told me you worked not one block from where I now live, I took a chance. My love. Forever.

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