He couldn't believe his luck. He had spent the whole day escorting an exotic dark-haired beauty from boutique to boutique, as she tried on dress after dress, even letting him peek into the changing rooms to get his opinion as to how things looked on her. Invariably, the answer was "stunning". How could it be otherwise, with such a delectable model?
She was his friend, visiting from abroad as part of a high-powered government delegation. Whether it was her sheer beauty or her sophistication or the confidence in her step, it attracted looks from all the male passers-by (and a few of the women as well). He soaked it in, unused to the attention that she naturally took for granted.
At the last place, the eager salesgirls, unfailingly able to detect a customer with a taste for the finer things in life, zeroed in on her, and were even nice to him, not quite sure of their relationship. She tried on an ivory-coloured blouse. This time, she called him into the changing room with her. She looked incredible! The jet black of her hair and eyes contrasted and melted into the tan of her face, which set off the cream of the blouse perfectly. It was high collared and covered in beautiful designs. It was snug enough to bring out the voluptuousness of her curves, but as always, impeccably tasteful. Being in the changing room with her was intoxicating, the confined space, her presence. His jeans felt two sizes too small.
His situation was not helped at all when she dragged him into the next place, a lingerie boutique. It was sheer torture, the way she pointed out little nothing thongs and lace see-through bras, all things that she apparently wore! Maybe she was wearing a skimpy thong right now . . . really, the thought made him weak in the knees. Finally, she picked an outfit and went to the back of the store, where the fitting rooms were. He followed her to the aisle between the two rows of changing rooms. She opened the door of one and walked in, closing the door behind her. The door went all the way from the floor to the ceiling, so that he couldn't even catch a peek of her ankles, but he could hear the swishing of clothes inside.
A brief digression now about men's underwear . . . when wearing jeans, it's difficult for men to wear boxer shorts, because they tend to bulk around the thighs. So it has to be either briefs or thongs.
He wished he had worn a brief today, because his erect penis was so engorged that the tip was poking out of the top of his underwear and it was rubbing against the rough denim. Not to mention, making an embarrassing spectacle of himself that he had to hide by strategically arranging his black leather jacket around his body.
"How do I look?" she called out from behind the door.
"Well, I can't tell if I'm on this side of the door," he said weakly.
She opened the door slightly. "Well, then come inside," she said. His heart pounding, he stepped into the changing room.
He gasped.
She was wearing a black chemise. It had spaghetti straps and went to about halfway down her thighs. It was completely transparent. Her ivory neck and shoulders were bare. Through the material, he could see her full, ripe breasts, and the erect round nipples that poked through the material. Her white skin glistened beneath the chemise, until it stopped at her milky thighs.
