In the Dressing Room

It’s mid-afternoon in Manhattan. We’ve decided to go shopping; you need a new shirt and I’m looking for new pajamas for summer. We spent the morning walking around, not really doing much. I said I wanted to go to Balthazar for lunch, so we headed to Greenwich Village for the morning. Finally around noon we walked over to Spring Street, found the restaurant, and sat at the bar. We ate oysters and drank lager for about two hours. I teased you to eat the pickled eggs on display, you said once we start eating pickled eggs, well, everything would be about the pickled eggs. Our only appointment was to hit the Algonquin or the Campbell Apartment for a drink later in the day, but that could change. It was then that we thought to head to Saks to kill part of the afternoon. If we wanted, we could stop by the hotel to change afterward.

The men’s store, for dress shirts and ties, is two floors above women’s lingerie. I say that I will meet you downstairs in the women’s section, if you don’t mind. I don’t think I will be long, even if I want to try something on.

When I go downstairs, the pajamas immediately lose my interest. There are multiple walls of nighties in every color. I fill my arms and go to the dressing rooms. The saleswoman installs me in the last room on the right, a corner. There is a small sofa to the left of the door, and ahead of me, a large three-sided mirror about eight feet high with a short podium for standing. She arranges my clothing and wishes me luck, to let her know if I need anything. The door locks behind her.

I pull off my knee-length boots and socks, then drop my skirt. I unbutton my shirt and hang it on a hook, then strip off my white eyelet bra but leave my thong panties on.

The first three nighties are too long. Then I try on a short black one that fits tight through the chest, and is slightly ruffled around the bottom. It has pink ribbon in the straps. I decide to take it. The next one is a set: a green open-front camisole with matching g-string. It has a few sequins even. A silk floral slip is pretty and flattering. Then I have the last one over my head. It is cream colored. The chest is lace and low-cut, slightly tight too. The stomach and back are silk. The sides? Well what is there is fine mesh, and transparent. The whole effect is barely concealed nudity. I can’t decide if I can splurge on just one more.

Just then I hear you outside the door, whispering my name. I grab the robe from the hook, hold it in front of me, and crack open the door. ‘You’re not supposed to be in here.’ ‘Well, yes,’ you say. I step back and open the door. You come in and sit on the couch, set your bag down, cross your legs, look around. There are nighties all over the floor. I say I am almost done, but hadn’t decided on the last one. ‘Which one?’ you ask.
‘The one I’m wearing.’
‘Well let’s see.’
‘Then it won’t be a surprise.’
‘But what if you don’t buy it? Then I’ll never see it. … That would be too bad.’
‘Alright,’ I say, then step to the podium, hold the robe to my side, and drop it. For a moment you say nothing. Then:
‘Um, wow.’
I turn toward the mirror. ‘Really? Do you think it’s good? Worth it?’
I look at you behind me, through the mirror. You stand up and step behind me. You run your hands down my sides while still looking at me. Your left hand moves to the front, to the slippery silk across my stomach while your right hand stays on my hip. I lean back slightly so I feel your chest brush my back as your left hand crosses up to my right breast. I take a sharp breath of surprise as you lightly pinch my nipple and your right hand grabs harder on my leg. You lower your mouth to the side of my neck, but your eyes are still on mine. You kiss my neck, behind my ear, and bite the lobe. My hands clutch the hem of my nightie. My head rolls to the left a little, so I can see in the left-hand mirror that the hem in back is kicked up slightly by your erection. I turn around to kiss your mouth, and to slide my hands under the waistband of your pants. Your tongue is on my lips, then in my mouth. Our eyes are open. Your left hand cups my chin; your right hand slides inward over my stomach and over my clit. You can feel already that I’m wet and hot. I unzip your pants and reach inside to find your cock. With one hand you pull my panties down to my knees. I step out. Your left hand slides up the nape of my neck and twines into my hair. You pull my head back as you thrust inside me, unguided. Can it be this good again, ah yes, always. You push me backward until I’m against the mirror. I lift one of my legs and wrap it around your waist, pulling you tighter against me, further into me. Your hands are on my ass; my arms are around your neck. We move like this for about a minute.

Then you surprise me by pulling out. You turn me around to face the center mirror. My hands are splayed on the glass. I look down to move my feet apart. You pull my head up so we’re looking at each other in the mirror as you enter me again, hard and fast. For a moment my eyes close, it’s so good. I look again at you and your mouth has its savage smile and you’re looking at me. I look to the right-hand mirror and can see your cock pushing in and out of me, fucking me. Hard. You look where I am watching, and your eyes fix there too. Your grip on my shoulder loosens a little so you can move further in and out as we watch. Your right hand is on my clit, helping to steady my body and getting me ready to come. We are still watching as you slide in and out of me over and over, again and again and again, don’t stop.

I want to laugh because I know I’m getting closer, but I bite my lips. Oh God now I’m so close even just from thinking about it, and I can tell you are too because you’re moving harder, your jaw is clenched, I can feel the sweat of your arm on my stomach. But it goes on and on, almost cresting but not quite.

Then all of a sudden, it’s here. I gasp. ‘Now’ I whisper. ‘Yes,’ you answer. My scalp and toes tingle. I see stars. And through my body runs an electric current that I can’t even describe. It ripples through until my palms sweat and my toes curl. You’re with me, pushing twice more, grabbing me, then you’re coming inside me, hot and hard, for longer than I expect. You pause, then thrust again inside me as the last wave rides over you. Your hands clench on my body, your forehead on my neck. My head is bowed and I’m leaning against the mirror. We can only stand there, locked together, breathing hard.

Soon we’ll have to break apart and step away, laugh at the smudges on the mirror, get dressed. Maybe later there’s more to be done in front of the mirror. Right now, though, this is where we are and what it is like here.