The Dressing Room (F)

Note: This is a fantasy based on a true event that did not go nearly so far, but has stuck in my head as a fun “what if.” The details of the lovemaking have been inspired by other events.


The early days of our marriage were filled with passion and discovery. Everything was new, so trying new things was part of it. One weekend my wife and I were in a mall shopping for, among other things,  some new sports bras. I followed her through an athletic wear store as she browsed the racks for something she liked.

She made a few selections and took them to the fitting room. Naturally, I followed her in. It was not terribly busy, all of the rooms seemed to be unoccupied, and there were no employees nearby.

I shut the door behind me and watched with wonder as my wife pulled off her shirt and bra and tossed them onto the bench. She was young and fit, and it was easy to see why she had been approached by a modeling agency for an athletic wear company. (She turned them down, which was probably for the best.) To me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and I was bewitched by the sight of her.

She tried on the first bra and looked at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that.

“What do you think, dear?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It’s okay. But I think you looked better without it.”

She shot a mock glare at me and I smiled back mischievously. She had to know that just the  anticipation of being in the same dressing room as her had me hard as a rock.

My wife turned back to the mirror for one last look then pulled the bra off over her head. My heart skipped a beat as her breasts dropped free, first one then the other a split second later. They swung fetchingly as she turned to hang up the garment she had just tried on and retrieve another.

She raised her arms and slid the next one on, repeating the process of adjusting and looking at herself in the mirror. When she asked my opinion, I made a few meaningless comments and stepped forward, making a show of looking at the bra from various angles. I then took the opportunity to give her breasts a good squeeze.

“Yes,” I told her. “That one feels good, though I still prefer you without one.”

“Hey, mister,” she said in mock disapproval, but she did not pull away from my touch. “Be serious now,” she admonished.

Stepping back, she removed this bra, obviously taking her time and showing off for her husband. I stared obligingly at her breasts, firm and round, with dark nipples standing out against her olive skin. Then she had the last bra and raised her arms pull it over her head, slowly pulling it down and over her breasts, deliberately teasing me with the sight.

We repeated the process, her looking in the mirror, asking for my opinion, my largely inane comments and, of course, groping. When she had made up her mind she gave me the mischievous look that drives me nuts.

“I think you should help me with this,” she said.

She did not have to ask twice. As she raised her arms, I lifted the bra first off of her breats then over her head, dropping it behind her. I was mere inches from my topless wife, and I reverently took her breasts into my hands, soaking in the feel of her soft skin and the gently yeilding firmness of her breasts.

“We should do it in here,” I said.

“No way!” She said. “We will get caught!”

“The door is locked and no one is around,” I told her.

“They have keys,” she protested. “We will get thrown out.”

I responded by leaning down and kissing her. She returned the kiss, her body involuntarily pressing against me. When our lips parted she moaned slightly.

“I can’t wait for you,” she said. “We better make it quick.”

I pulled her close, and we kissed passionately. My wife worked her hands under my shirt and lifted it over my head, forcing us to part briefly. Before my shirt hit the floor, we were once again pressed together, as though by magnetism. Our chests were now skin to skin, and the warmth was like fuel on the fire of our passion. She pressed her hips against me, grinding her crotch against my rod. I backed her against a wall and dry humped her while kissing her neck.

Whimpering with desire, she went to work on my belt. Finally, she got it and my pants undone and shoved them to the floor. My penis, now released, was soon engulfed in her hand.

I was already working on the button of her tight jeans at this point. Once they were undone, I knelt as I pushed her jeans and panties to the floor. I helped her step out of them then remained on my knees in front of her with her fragrant, shaved pussy inches from my face.

She looked down at me with raw desire, and I buried my face in her pussy.

She gasped, throwing her head back and fighting a cry of pleasure. I held onto her hips and thrust my tongue as deep as I could, tracing letters in her wetness while she leaned against the wall, one hand in my hair, the other squeezing her boob. She whimpered and writhed as she soaked my face. Finally, she grabbed my hair with both hands and pushed my head away from her, her face flushed and serious with desire.

“I need you inside me,” she said, her voice husky with passion.

I stood, and she propped a foot on the bench. I entered easily, as she was wet enough to flood a basement. She gasped, trying to be quiet, and I began thrusting upward and inward.

She moaned softly, holding tight to me. It only took a few more thrusts to bring her to climax. She shuddered with the orgasm then lowered her foot to the floor.

She kissed me and began to hump me, sliding her hips back and forth along my rod. I matched her rhythm, and we danced like this, holding each other tight, pawing at backs and buttocks, and thrusting our hips together. She came up on her toes and went rigid with another orgasm, her fingernails clawing into my back and her moans muffled by my mouth.

As she came down from this climax, she slid off of me and turned around to face the mirror and braced herself against the wall, and I slid into her from behind. She inhaled hard as I entered and arched her back.

I slid my hands up and down her back then reached down to grasp her breasts. She pushed off the wall and stood up as best she could, reaching back to grab behind my head. Our eyes met in the mirror, and she gave me her dirty girl smile as she pushed her ass back against me. The image of her in that mirror burned into my memory, a perfect picture of beauty and sexual desire as God intended.

I kissed her neck and thrust deeper into her. She gasped and released my head, leaning forward to brace against the mirror wall again, so I grabbed her hips and began to pound her. I  watched her in the mirror, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, breasts swinging with each thrust. With a view like this there was no way I could look away.

Soon she arched her back and her knees went weak as another climax crashed over her. I held her up by her hips and she made handprints all over the mirror.

‘I’m close,” I told her, after she had recovered and started gently thrusting.

“Wait,” she said, sliding off of me. “Don’t come in me. I don’t want to be dripping cum the rest of the day.” She grabbed her pants, and I feared she was going to get dressed and leave me in desperate need of release. But instead of pulling them on, she placed them on the ground in front of me and kneeled down. Looking up at me with those lovely dark eyes of hers, she took hold of my shaft.

“Do you mind coming in my mouth?” she asked. No sooner had I said that would be great than she devoured my dick, bobbing her head up and down along my shaft like a pro.

Now it was my turn to close my eyes and fight moans of pleasure.  She pulled off, stroked me with her hand, then stuck me back into her mouth. I stared at her as she worked, her eyes closed, lips locked around my shaft as she slid back and forth along it, one hand wrapped around around the base of my shaft, the other grabbing my hip, her breasts swaying gently with her bobbing motion.

I could not hold back any longer and grunted as I ejaculated into her mouth.  She gagged slightly as the first ropes of cum shot into the back of her throat, but she recovered and sucked every last drop, pumping me with her hand.

When I had finished pulsing,  she slid off and looked up at me. She swallowed visibly then wiped her mouth and stood up. We kissed, a hint of saltiness on her lips.

“Don’t expect that every time, mister,” she said. “I still don’t like the taste.” We kissed again.

“Thanks, babe,” I told her. “That was amazing.”

“I know I am,” she said teasingly. “Now lets go before we get caught for real.” We threw on our clothes, pausing to wipe the handprints from the mirror, then gathered our things.

We were giggling like kids who had just gotten away with something when we opened the dressing room door. Outside the dressing rooms at the clothes rack stood a young woman in an employee’s uniform. She gave us a knowing smile.

“Did everything fit okay?” she asked.

My wife could not contain her grin. “Oh yes,” she said, taking my hand. “It all fit perfectly.” The woman smiled even wider.

“I thought so,” she said with a wink. “Enjoy your day!” And with that, we carried on as though nothing had happened.

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2 replies
  1. RMD says:

    My wife and I have made love several times in the family dressing room of a well known outdoor store, and in the men’s dressing room on an early Saturday morning when no one else was in the store. The dressing rooms have been closed for the last year, but once they reopen we plan on welcoming them back!

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