Too tight (Darien pt 8)

What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to cover for his raging boner, his desperate horny impulses that were bad on any given day but today seemed to want to get him fired?

“It’s – oh, god, uh, it’s–”

She stared at him, unconcerned.

“The box, Andrew. In your hands.”

The box. He was still holding a shoe box, somehow forgotten after she had taken the others. Suddenly he realized that from this distance, this angle… maybe she couldn’t see his bulging pants after all. Maybe he was safe.

Thrusting the remaining box into her hands, trying to not look at her hose covered lower body and legs, he pivoted on his heel again – then took one step away from her for good measure. Even if he turned his head, he couldn’t see the mirror now, couldn’t be assumed to be doing anything, couldn’t be blamed for anything. Blameless.

He stood there unmoving, listening to soft rustling behind him, the sound of fabric over fabric. She’d said he could look, but that seemed crazy, a trap of some kind. He was going to ignore that suggestion, he told himself… but it really didn’t matter. His mind was showing her to him whether he wanted it or not.

“Oh crap,” the woman said behind him after a minute or so.

“Uhhh, what’s up?”

“I think I underestimated how tight this dress was going to be.”

Instantly Andrew wanted to turn around and see this for himself, but he balled his fists and forced himself to stay front-focused.

“Do you… need me to find another size?”

“No,” the woman replied, sounding unconcerned. “It fits. It’s just… well, tight. Very tight. I’m honestly worried it could rip.”

Her words were not helping Andrew to stay calm. Wanting very much to be elsewhere if only to adjust his pants, he said “I can totally go get you something else if you want.”

“It’s not a problem. I wanted tight. The only concern I have is, well… you might want to turn around.”

Andrew absolutely did not want to turn around, as he was now ‘box-less’ and his cock was unmistakably jutting forward. On instinct he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to make his crotch look less like a flagpole.

Then, slowly, he turned.

She was even more attractive now she was out of her denim outfit. A vision in black, her toned, supple legs were covered in the dark pantyhose he’d seen her pull on, shimmering slightly as she shifted foot to foot, shoes all that she was missing.

The only other item she wore was the dress, which Andrew had no clue would be so, well, tight. It was made of some sort of stretchy material which clung to the woman like a jealous lover, cutting high across her thighs and curving around her breasts, holding her so close Andrew could see the outline of the bra he’d brought to her, a hidden map to endless treasure.

“Wow,” he said, before he had any idea he was saying it.

“At least I know it does what it’s supposed to do,” she said, smiling in a way Andrew had never seen from any other girl. “The question is, will it be better with heels? I hope you brought me a good selection, Andrew.”

He nodded, pushing his fingertips outwards, trying to tent his pants. “Yeah, I picked out a few different styles of, uh, pump. It was, uh, four inch heels you wanted, right?”

“I can go higher, but it’s a start,” she said, still smiling. “Well, let’s see what we have, shall we?”

Turning to the boxes, she bent over slightly, allowing Andrew to see that from behind, the hemline on the dress rose up enough to show the curve of her ass.

“So, do you do this often?”

“What?”

“Help women with their clothing selections.”

Andrew shook his head, then remembered she wasn’t facing him. He swallowed and said “No, not really, no.”

“You should. You’ve got a good eye.”

She turned back holding a pair of pumps with a gleaming shiny finish. Andrew had never seen anyone buy them, but they did have a four and a quarter inch heel and were in her size.

They were also some of the sexiest shoes he could imagine.

“Mmm, Calvin Klein,” the woman said, dangling the shoes from her fingers. “Expensive, no doubt.”

“Actually they’re on sale,” Andrew said quickly, although it was clear the woman didn’t care.

She carefully placed each pump on the ground, then sat down. And didn’t move.

“Andrew,” she said, “be a darling and help me out here. You’ve seen the dress. If I bend over it might split, frankly. Could you…?”

She looked down knowingly at the heels on the floor, just sitting there, waiting to be worn. Waiting for her foot, in her pantyhose, to slide inside.

Andrew nodded, biting back the words he truly wanted to say. That this was the best day of his life.

He sank to his knees and picked up the first shoe.