One Day Sunday: Part 4 by debee

One Day Sunday: Part Four

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And we did. Ninety minutes and four boutiques later had a hot little faux leather number, black, just at the knee. Its slightly stretchy fabric hugged my curves nicely, and to my surprise (and with Katherine giving me another vigorous cinching), I was down to a 23! We also picked out a more practical mid-thigh navy a-line, and two satin blouses, one black, the other cream.

Katherine new most of the shops and the help and chose stores that she thought would be open to my adventure. While some saleswomen weren’t thrilled about helping us, most were enthusiastic and cheerful. It was wonderful to have them fuss over me, offer tips and suggestions, and pretend to be jealous of my figure and legs.

During my blouse and skirt shopping, I’d given my clitty a rest and it was now back in its proper place. I asked Katherine if I was to wear a skirt out or my jeans, that I was too silly to decide on my own.

“Of course you are, Hun. Better get back into your long jeans and boots. I noticed your stockings are sagging. We better find you something to hold them up. And guess what we’re right next door to!”

I soon was pulled by the hand into a well known lingerie franchise. The femininity of the environment was intoxicating. All the help looked like the models in their own catalogue.

Katherine soon picked two styles of panty/garter sets with matching bras. One, a simple black satin, the other a more lacey light pink. “The garter is easy. Small. Your bra size is trickier. Here, start with this 34 AA padded, and we’ll go from there. In you go,” and she guided me to the changing room.

“I’m sorry. We can’t let you use our changing rooms,” a tall blonde intervened.

Oh. And why not?” Katherine politely asked.

“Just store policy. Cross dressers in the changing rooms sometimes make the other customers… uncomfortable.” She spoke in low tones in an attempt to keep our conversation somewhat private.

Katherine had now such thoughts. “Your dressing rooms are gender neutral. There’s no other place to change. How do we get the right fit?” she demanded in a firm tone.

Before the woman could answer, I heard a familiar voice chirp in, “What’s so ‘uncomfortable’? I don’t mind if he uses a room.” It was my wife. I didn’t know how long she’d been in the store.

“There,” Katherine said to the blonde, “you see? She doesn’t mind. How about you, miss?” she asked the nearest customer.

“Hey, help yourself,” the mid 30’s soccer mom said. These last few exchanges were rather loud. There were three other shoppers and another saleswoman in the place.

Katherine addressed the room, “anyone else mind?”

Two of the customers gave negative replies, the other merely shrugged.

The two clerks also shrugged to each other. The blonde spoke apologetically, “Look, it’s no big deal and I don’t care, really, so ok, this once. But keep it under your hat, ok? We really don’t want to become a drag haven…”

And I was in. As I tried on different sized bras, I marveled at my two “girlfriend’s” deftness. They used the situation to accomplish: a) making a valid political point about discrimination, b) allowing me to get in and try on sexy lingerie, and c) made me a focal point for all the customers. Not only were they all aware of what I was doing, but they all were kind of “invested” in my activity. Indeed, none left as I occasionally opened the door to let Katherine check the fitting on a particular size. Most gazed openly at us.

My wife kept up a chatter with Katherine, still pretending to be a stranger. “Wow, so well trained! That’s so wonderful. Does he cook and clean? Iron? Hand wash your dainties? Is he a live in? Oh, you ‘borrowed’ him? From who? How cool is that! Do you get to do anything you want with him? Anything?? (giggle) Hey! Can I borrow him when you’re done? Will his… ‘owner’, is that the right word? ‘Owner’ mind?”

This, and other such chat went on while I was in and out of my bras. Katherine selected the pink set and paid for it while I waited in the cubicle. She soon returned with the garter set and handed it over the door. Panties first then your stockings and belt and bra, then your cincher. Cream blouse, black skirt, boots. Hand me the rest, here’s your purse back. See you in a few, Hun.”

I stepped out a few minutes later. The same women were still there, “browsing.” I felt their stares but didn’t return them. Katherine motioned me over saying “well done, Hun, well done! You look so pretty! Now I have agreed to let this woman borrow you and use you as she sees fit, just as I have done. I will tell your owner. But stay with me for a few minutes. I have another task for you.”

These words were voiced as the three of us left the store, all eyes and ears on us. We walked quickly around a corner and collapsed on a sitting bench. “God what a RUSH!” Katherine said. “What a hoot. God this has been fun!”

I know!” my wife said. “Katherine, you’re fantastic. So nice of you to help us play dress-up”

I could play with you two all day,” she sighed. “But, the work thing. Gotta get back. But anytime you want a third… here’s my card… and my cell.’ Katherine jotted it on the card. My wife took another card and wrote our number it and gave it back to her. Hugs, kisses and a quick good-bye.

We sat down again happily. I looked down at myself, my leather skirt and spike heeled boots, felt the garter pull at my stockings, and a fresh wave of horniness came over me. “Stop admiring yourself,” said my wife, guessing my thoughts. “Tell me, how’d you know to sit down that way?”

“What way?”

“This is the first time we’ve sat since you put that sexy skirt on. As you sat down, you smoothed the skirt under your butt. Your knees are together, your ankles turned nicely to the side… I mean it’s lovely, ladylike… deportment. I don’t even sit that way…. There’s a lot of girly in you, Hun.” She gave me a long kiss. “I wonder why I like it? And you do too,” she kissed me again, “don’t you Hun?” kissing, whispering in my ear, “don’t you, my little, horny bitch.” Her hand was on my thigh, fingering the garter snaps through the fabric.

Like before, she abruptly stopped and sat up straight. She looked dreamily around and sighed. “Remember how we both hated malls? Now I see this place as Wonderland. A beautiful Wonderland. And, you, my dear Alice, you and I have stepped through the Looking Glass. We can have anything we desire here. All dreams can be fulfilled.” Giggle.

Before I could reply, she kissed me again. As she nuzzled and kissed, she whispered into my ear, “For example, our dear Katherine highly recommends that salon around the corner. And just behind you, she says that nail place is where she goes for her manicure and that the pedicures are delicious. And several of the jewelry stores here will pierce your ears for free with a purchase of good earrings. Too bad that tan and spa place is closed today. They do waxing. We’ll do that another day… but hair, nails and ears are a must.” She put a hand on my thigh and looked into my eyes, “You couldn’t say ‘no’ to me even if you wanted to, and you definitely don’t want to, do you, you little cunt?” I start to squirm my clit against the bench.

“I’ll let you decide which to do first.” She pondered. “Now, shall I go in with you, speak to the girls myself? We would decide what to do with you, making it clear that you’re opinion isn’t relevant, like you’re my property. That’s been really fun, hasn’t it? Or, do I come in later and watch you? Make you do it alone? Watch you ask to be prettied up, while I snicker and giggle with other customers… Hmmm? What do you like best? Both must be so humiliating!”

As it turned out, she did some of both. My wife and the hair stylist decided that a “Jamie Lee Curtis look” would work for me. They seemed more concerned with my eyebrows than anything else, and spent a good deal of time plucking and shaping them. My cut was short, simple, but clearly feminine.

My “look” apparently called for some large rhinestone earrings, so my ears were pierced next, and they chose a pair of silvery squares.

After that, it was to the nail place. My wife played a “stranger” again and giggled and teased with other women as I had my fingernails and toenails done. The pedicure was, as Katherine said, delicious. I chose an opalescent, pale pink for the fingernails, and a deep red for the toes. Rolling my stockings down was also fun, and I needed to use the “ladies room” to reattach them to my garters.

The experiences and feelings I had as I became more and more feminine is impossible to describe. Between each stop my wife necked with me and tried to feel up my skirt, which was always met with a slap of my hand. It was getting to be closing time for most of the shops. While there was time, my wife headed us to one of the larger department stores. She pointed to the make-up counter and told me to enquire to the girl about a quality brand of lipstick. And to ask about the easiest way to apply eyeliner. And with eye shadow, is it darker colors that should go closest to the eye?

In fifteen minutes I had my lips and eyes done expertly by the saleswoman, and a ruby red lipstick, mascara and liner, eye shadow, and a little blush in my purse.

In fifteen more minutes, we were in the lounge of the same restaurant that we had had lunch. My wife ordered me a Manhattan, allowing me only one, “since you’re driving,” she ordered. She was on her second scotch when she started to get really, really horny, and somewhat verbally abusive. I needed “my brains fucked out. Really, totally fucked out,” whether I “wanted it or not, ‘cause any bitch cunt that dresses like that… not only wants it, she’s asking for it. Ain’t that right? You want it?” More kissing and nuzzling. More of her hand creeping up my skirt, fingers sliding into the top of my stocking. I squirmed in my seat. Again.

“This has been a very fun day.” I said hoarsely. “I’ve never seen you so excited. Or aroused. And I think I feel the same. Tell me,” I stared into her eyes, “do you like me… better… this way…?”

It was a serious question and I thought it warranted a thoughtful answer. But she quickly waved it off. “Nah,” she dismissed. “If I was a lesbian and wanted a girl, I’d have got me one of those. I married a guy that’s what I want,” and she sat up and drained her drink. I felt confused and disappointed with her answer. What was I expecting? I retrieved a mirror and my lipstick from my bag and gave myself a fresh coat.

“But,” she said when I’d finished, and kissed me so hard she smeared my lipstick again, “I would love having a go at being bisexual…with you. Let’s go home and have a fresh look at our toys. We may see them in a whole different light.”

“Let me powder my nose.”


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For more info on debee, check out her Fetlife profile: http://fetlife.com/users/41213