The Dressing Room

This is my first story submission. I'd be grateful for any and all feedback!

The bell above the entrance gave a soft chime, and Asha looked up from her perfectly folded display of shirts. She hadn't seen another human in over two hours, so the sound jolted her out of a quiet daydream.

Then her eyes met his.

Tyler.

Professor Tyler, technically, but he wasn't her professor anymore. Her breath caught in her throat just a little before she smoothed it out with practiced calm. He looked exactly as she remembered--slightly disheveled in a curated kind of way, tall with kind eyes and a voice that always made her lean in a little. The beard was a little fuller now, his eyes tired, but still sharp.

He smiled. "Hey. Asha?"

She straightened up and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Hi, Professor."

"Tyler," he corrected gently.

God

, she thought.

Even his voice still does things to me.

He looked around. "I, uh... I need a pair of pants. Slim fit, something dark. Also looking for a dress."

"For you or someone else?" she asked with a soft, teasing lilt in her voice.

Tyler gave a short laugh, almost embarrassed. "For my ex. I'm seeing her tonight."

Ex.

Asha's eyebrows lifted just a little before she masked it with a smile. "Ah. Dangerous territory."

He nodded with a half-smile. "Yeah. Trying to be... diplomatic."

She motioned with her hand, inviting him deeper into the store. "Let's start with pants. Dress we can circle back to."

As they walked side by side into the more private rear section, Asha glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Same quiet, thoughtful energy. Same deep voice she used to think about while trying to fall asleep after late study nights. She felt a flicker of heat in her chest and quickly shifted the focus.

"What kind of dress are you thinking for her?" she asked casually.

"I don't know. Something elegant. Not too flashy. Just something nice that... might remind her."

Asha's voice came out lighter than she expected. "What's her skin tone?"

Tyler paused for a second. "Um... kind of wheatish? Like yours."

That stopped her for a beat. Her heart skipped once.

"Oh," she said, glancing at him again. "And... her build?"

He hesitated again. Then: "Honestly? She looks a lot like you."

Asha felt that one like a quiet bolt of lightning. Her body buzzed.

He dated someone like me. Who touched him. Kissed him. Rode him. Let him take her apart. And now he's here. With me.

The warmth started between her legs before she even realized it. She adjusted her stance slightly and bit the inside of her cheek to keep her thoughts at bay.

She led him to the men's section and began browsing, fingers skimming the fabrics until she found a pair that would hug in all the right places.

"These," she said, holding out a slim-cut charcoal pair with a high thread count and subtle stretch. "Try them. They're made for someone with your... frame."

She caught herself looking at his waist. Broad shoulders, tapered core. She'd imagined what was under his lectures more than once.

Tyler nodded and took the pants with a grateful smile, disappearing into the fitting room. The store returned to its hush. Asha leaned against the edge of a display and let herself feel the quiet throb of desire.

If she looked like me, did he touch her like I wish he'd touch me? Did he kiss her neck slow before pushing her up against a wall? Did he whisper to her between thrusts?

She pressed her thighs together, hard.

Then she heard him call, voice tight: "Asha?"

She straightened. "Yeah?"

"I have a problem."

She blinked, then walked over to the fitting room. The door was ajar, and he stood there, the pants halfway fastened but clearly caught at the zipper. Her eyes lingered.

"Oh." She tried to sound neutral. "Let me..."

She knelt in front of him, close enough to smell him--clean and masculine with a faint trace of cologne. Her fingers moved to the zipper, doing her best to avoid the bulge pressing behind the fabric. She felt heat flare in her cheeks.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"It's fine," she said softly, working the zipper, her fingertips lightly grazing his boxers. She felt the tension in his body, the restrained breath, the unmistakable pressure beneath.

The zipper refused to budge. Asha let her hands fall away and looked up at him from where she knelt.

"Maybe it'll loosen on its own," she said, her voice lower than before. "Why don't we shop for the dress while we wait?"

She stood slowly, lightly brushing her arm against him as she rose.

She didn't meet his eyes. She couldn't. Her face was burning, and her whole body was alert, buzzing, wet.

She turned and walked ahead of him, knowing he was watching her hips move, and knowing he was thinking about everything she'd just touched.

She stopped near the women's formal section, glancing back with a polite smile to reset the moment. Her voice shifted, light and professional again. "So, dress time. You want something elegant. Classy, but... maybe a little memorable?"

Tyler nodded, visibly trying to shake the static from the last few minutes. "Exactly."

She scanned the racks with purpose, then paused when her fingers found the fabric--silky, black, strapless. A body-hugging, whisper-thin number that shimmered faintly under the lights. She slipped it off the hanger and held it up between them.

"This might be more daring than you were imagining," she said carefully. "But it's beautiful."

"Looks amazing." His eyes traveled the length of it, then flicked toward her. "Just thinking how it would look on her."

The words hovered in the space between them, and for a second Asha just stood there, heart thudding.

On her.

Like me.

Her fingers gripped the hanger tightly. She bit the inside of her cheek. A voice inside her whispered--dangerous, curious.

What if I offered?

She took a soft breath, keeping her voice gentle, almost tentative. "Would it help... if I tried it on?"

Tyler blinked. "You'd do that?"

Asha glanced away shyly, her voice quieter now. "I mean, if it'd help."

He was silent. She didn't dare look at his face.

Then: "Oh, that's so generous of you. Well... okay? But only if you're comfortable."

She nodded quickly, her hands already trembling as she turned and walked toward the fitting room with the dress draped over her arm. Her pulse was pounding as she shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a second to exhale.

What the hell am I doing?

She unzipped the dress and stepped out of her modest skirt, her blouse, folding them neatly. The dress was light as water, the fabric smooth beneath her fingers. She stepped into it, but as she began to pull it up, she paused. Her bra straps--thin and white--stood out like neon against the cut of the neckline.

She twisted, trying to adjust. No matter what she did, the straps ruined the effect. The dress demanded more.

I can't wear this with a bra. Not this one.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

But if I take it off...

Her eyes flicked downward. Her nipples were already firm, the idea of what she was doing firing heat straight through her chest.

Would it be too much? Would he notice? Would I want him to?

She swallowed hard.

Then she reached behind her, slowly unhooked her bra, and slid the straps down her arms. She let it fall silently into her pile of clothes, leaving her breasts bare beneath the silky black fabric.

When she pulled the dress up again, it hugged her hips and waist like a second skin, clinging to every curve. The top molded to her chest, pressing just tight enough to lift, to shape.

Her nipples were visible--barely--but they were there. Her stomach fluttered.

She turned, twisted, looked from every angle. The back was low, the sides kissed her ribs. Her skin glowed against the dark fabric.

This is so... fucking... revealing.

She hesitated at the curtain.

He's going to see everything. But I offered. I said I would.

And part of her wanted him to.

Let him see what he's not supposed to.

She closed her eyes for a moment, found her center, then slowly pulled the curtain back and stepped into the open.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning.

Tyler turned. His eyes widened, and he seemed to forget how to speak for a second.

Asha stood there, arms gently at her sides, looking at him with an uncertain expression. "Well?"

His eyes roamed over her, slow and reverent. From her bare shoulders to her waist, lingering on the soft swell of her breasts beneath the fabric.

"It... looks incredible," he said finally, voice thick.

Asha didn't move. Her heart beat against her ribs. Every inch of her skin felt electric.

I'm doing this. Letting him look. Letting him wonder.

Asha smiled, her cheeks warm. "You think so?" she asked, playing up a little bashfulness. Her hands smoothed over the dress as if adjusting it, though nothing needed adjusting. It was perfect--and she knew it.

Tyler nodded. "I mean... I don't know. Is it maybe... too revealing?"

Asha tilted her head thoughtfully, pretending to consider it with strict professionalism, though her eyes sparkled.

"Hmm," she said. "Let's see."

She turned slightly, presenting herself in profile. The fabric caught the light, drawing attention to the delicate line of her waist, the gentle swell of her hips. She leaned forward just a bit, towards him, inspecting her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. Her posture subtly shifted--just enough that the neckline dipped with her.

"From your angle," she said, voice lightly teasing but still calm, "what do you see?"

Tyler opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She let the silence linger, then smiled faintly. "It's okay. I'll narrate."

She leaned a little further, her arms at her sides so nothing obscured the view. "You're probably seeing just the top curve. The fabric's tight--but not too tight. It stays in place." Her fingers slid up her sides, brushing the dress into perfect position. "There's no gaping. No slipping. And since I'm not wearing straps... "

Her gaze met his.

"... it's a cleaner line."

Tyler looked like he was trying very hard to be polite. Like he was trying not to let his eyes dip.

But they dipped.

Asha straightened with a soft laugh in her throat, then turned and walked to the padded bench in the center of the fitting area. The slit of the dress shifted slightly with each step, showing flashes of thigh with every movement.

"Now the bottom," she said, settling gracefully onto the edge of the bench. "We need to test what happens when someone sits."

She crossed one leg over the other, slowly. Then uncrossed, and crossed again the opposite way.

The dress shifted higher, just an inch or two--but enough.

"Can you see anything?" she asked, her voice casual, clinical.

Tyler looked like he was trying not to blink.

She tilted her head. "Well?"

He cleared his throat. "Not really."

Liar.

She could feel the cool air brushing against the upper edge of her panties. She hadn't picked them for this--they were just simple, black, seamless--but now she was hyper-aware of every inch they covered. And what they didn't.

She shifted her hips slightly, letting the dress ride a little higher before smoothing it down again. "Okay, good to know. Most clients don't think about how a dress moves while sitting. It's important."

Tyler nodded, but his eyes were still stuck somewhere between her knees and her throat.

She stood again, slow and deliberate, brushing the dress down. "One more thing," she said, in that matter-of-fact tone that made everything feel like a professional experiment. "We should test for temperature."

Tyler raised an eyebrow.

She nodded, looking serious. "Some dresses... when it's cold... they show more on top. Especially around here." Her hands hovered briefly around her chest, not touching yet.

She turned away slowly, as if thinking deeply, and faced the mirror. "It's not cold in here, though, so I'll have to, um... simulate it."

"Simulate?" Tyler was barely audible.

"Mhm."

She lifted her hands. For a moment, they hovered--then she let them drift upward, lightly grazing the sides of her chest. Slow, lazy motions, almost absentminded.

Then her palms smoothed over the front of the dress. Circling.

She kept her expression neutral, focused. Like she was conducting a fitting assessment and nothing more.

Her fingertips traced the soft lines of her nipples through the satin, brushing, teasing--pinching.

Slowly, deliberately.

They reacted instantly to her touch, tightening beneath the fabric.

She pretended not to notice the mirrored angle in front of her. Pretended she wasn't watching his reflection just as much as her own.

But she saw him. His eyes fixed. His breath held.

God, I'm doing this. I'm letting him watch me tease my nipples. In a dress he picked for his ex. Who looks like me.

Her movements grew slower, more sensual. She teased a soft moan from herself--barely audible, but unmistakable. Her head tilted slightly to the side, lips parting as she gently pinched again.

The peaks were now fully visible beneath the thin, taut fabric.

She let her hands fall away and took one deep breath before turning slowly back to face him.

Tyler looked like he couldn't speak. His lips parted, his jaw locked, his eyes fixated on her chest.

The silence hung.

Then Asha smiled softly and broke it.

"Well... " she said, voice light, innocent. "I guess it is pretty revealing."

After a long pause, she added: "And... so are those pants."

Tyler's gaze dropped instantly, and she followed it.

The fabric was straining. Unforgiving. That same poor zipper still stuck, still failing him.

Asha tilted her head, still watching him with that perfect balance of innocence and something more. Her voice was casual, too casual.

"While we're thinking about the dress... maybe we should make a decision about the pants?"

Tyler's expression didn't change much, but his silence was telling. She took a slow step toward him, watching the way his eyes flicked down then immediately back up. He was trying very hard not to look. Which, of course, made it all the more obvious that he wanted to.

She gave a thoughtful little hum. "I think," she said, drawing out the words as though she were remembering a long-lost concept, "we should test them... scientifically."

That got a flicker from him--a half-smile, a breath of recognition. She smiled too, softly. "Just like you taught me."

Before he could say anything, she knelt gracefully in front of him, settling down between his feet. Her eyes rose to meet his. Her lips parted slightly as she said, "Let's see if they're... robust to changes."

Her hands didn't touch him. Not yet. She merely placed her palms on her own thighs and sat very still, close enough for him to feel her breath.

He's looking down at me. I can feel it. I bet he can see everything. The top of my breasts. The dress hugging my body. The dark space between my thighs if he's really trying.

She looked up at him with wide, dark eyes. "Let's start simple. Can I create any... noticeable changes, just by talking?"

The silence between them was hot now, thick and unbroken. She let it stretch for just another heartbeat. Then she smiled faintly.

"So... I'm on my knees," she murmured softly, as if reciting for a lab notebook. "In front of my former professor. Who once gave me an A-minus and ruined my GPA," she added with a wink.

His face barely moved, but something else did--shifting visibly beneath tight fabric.

She kept narrating. "I'm wearing significantly less clothing than when he walked in. No bra. A dress that barely counts as decent. And I'm looking up at him from this angle... which means he can probably see more than he bargained for today."

She tilted her face just a little, the dress falling slightly forward, letting him glimpse the generous, perfect curve of her breasts inside the low neckline.

"Ooh," she whispered, lips parting in mock surprise. "Growth detected."

God, this is happening. He's getting hard while I talk. While I kneel.

She leaned in just a little closer, lips now almost brushing against the fabric over him.

"You used to lecture for an hour without notes," she whispered, her voice low and warm. "So composed. So calm. But now... "

She paused, letting her breath hit him. "Now you're quiet. You're watching me. You're wondering how far I'll go."

Another twitch.

"Ooh," she teased again, delighted. "Further growth detected."

She sat back slightly, admiring the view. The outline of him was straining so hard now, she could see where the zipper warped just slightly under the pressure. A tiny gap had formed near the top--barely noticeable, unless you were this close.

Which she was.

She leaned closer again, lowering her voice to a whisper. "And you're still being so good. So polite. You haven't moved. Haven't said anything. You're just standing there... hard... while I talk to you like this."

His body pulsed. She saw it. Felt it, even without touching.

"Still holding up," she mused, glancing down. "Barely."

She let her voice drop lower. Slower. Softer. "I wonder what would happen if I said something really filthy. Like..."

Tyler's throat moved. A swallow. His hips twitched, just a bit.

She leaned in, lips an inch from the zipper.

"I've been wet since the zipper got stuck."

The reaction was instant.

A sharp intake of breath. A sudden shift forward. A twitch--no, a lurch--and then:

Snap.

There was no hiding it now. His cock sprang free through the tiny opening in the front of his boxers, pushing past the fabric and half-open zipper, standing long and thick and flushed and right there in front of her mouth.

Asha didn't flinch. She simply stayed there, on her knees, inches from him, looking up with a calm that masked the wildfire inside her.

She glanced at his length--fully out now, hard and thick, pulsing gently in the cool air of the fitting room. "I think the pants have been... compromised."

Her eyes flicked deliberately to the throbbing shaft before her, then back to his face.

"And it begs the question... If your ex wears this dress, just how much power would she have over you?"

She didn't expect him to answer. He couldn't. His mouth was slightly open, his hands clenched by his sides, his entire body taut.

"I wonder... " she whispered. "In this dress... how many touches would it take before things get, um... messy?"

She feigned professionalism alongside a teasing smile.

"I can help us find out."

She brought her lips closer--so close he could feel the heat radiating from her breath--and said sweetly:

"Here. Let's count."

She leaned in and placed a soft, wet lick at the base of him.

"One," she whispered, breath warm against his skin.

She pulled back just slightly, watching his jaw tense.

Another gentle flick--this time along the head.

"Two... "

He let out a sharp breath, his hips barely shifting, trying to stay still.

She smiled. "You're doing well. But so is the dress. I wonder if we'll make it to five."

The next lick was slower, more deliberate. She didn't rush--didn't need to. She traced just the edge, then pulled back again.

"Three."

God, he's shaking. I'm doing this. I'm making my professor lose control just by being close. Talking. Teasing.

She looked up at him, her tongue gliding lazily across her bottom lip.

"I wonder what it will be like," she whispered. "when you can't take any more. Would your ex... hear a groan first? Or would she just feel something warm hit her mouth?"