I really detest shopping for clothes.

No, really.

But, leave it to her to change things up and make it more… interesting.

“Come on.  We’re going shopping for you.”  I grumble and groan, but gather my things and out the door we go to the mall.  I’m thinking it’s strange to go to the mall, we’re more of a “discount store down the street” kind of folks, but hey, I’m not calling the shots here.  I also notice you’re surprisingly dressed up… er, down for the event.  A sassy mini skirt and one of THOSE tops that shows a whole lot of cleavage.  I take it as a bribe and grin a bit.

As we head into the first store, we find a pair of pants and you immediately want to head back to the dressing rooms.  I start to ask if we should look for other pants to take back too, but… stop talking when I see the look on your face.

In the dressing rooms, you casually tell me you want to see the pants on me – loud enough for others to hear, but not obnoxious… and back we go together.  Together.  Now I’m worried that there is something more to this.

We grab a room and once inside, you pull me to you and whisper in my ear – “here’s the deal.  One article of clothing per trip, and I get to have my way with you each trip to the dressing rooms.  I have to approve all clothes, so no picking the first one if it’s not right.”

You reach into your purse and pull out the small leather paddle – “Oh, and no.  You may not stop me, and may not cum unless I say, and if you do, you’ll get swatted, hard several times here, where everyone will know precisely what’s going on.  So a) stay quiet so we don’t get busted, and b) don’t even think about cumming.  Cage in my purse please.”

As soon as I have the cage off, you start at me, rubbing and stroking and rolling me around in your hands.

I am terrified.  You have me leaned back against the wall and you’re carrying on this bizarre one-sided conversation just loud enough for others to hear – to keep it sounding at least passably innocent.  Just as I get hard, you stop and point to the pants we’ve brought back.

I try pulling them on, but, um, well, things are in the way.  I’m being very careful getting things zipped, but they’re just not right.  I also notice that you brought the wrong size back.  I suspect it’s on purpose.  I take them back off and you’re grinning, knowing I’ve figured out what you did.  “I guess you’ll need a different size.  I’ll keep the room while you’re getting them.”

There’s no hiding my erection – I’m doing my best to do that dance, the one where it goes to one side or the other and slouching to get my shirt tails down to cover things… You start doting and tucking in my shirt for me with one hand, rubbing me with the other.  “Sorry, your shirt looked weird untucked.  You’ll probably want to get the next size.” 

You send me on my way, I’m so fucking self-conscious about what feels like must be my obvious predicament and quickly scoot over to the racks where I can snug up close and search for the right pair of pants.

I return, and as soon as I start to change, you take me into your mouth and it’s all I can do to keep quiet and not let on to the world exactly what’s going on – I feel you moving up and down me, I also feel that energy running up and down my spine.  I’m split between concentrating on you and what you’re doing and keeping quiet.  So far I’m succeeding pretty well, but I’ve completely frozen back against the wall.

Something flashes through my head and I remember where I am and I look at you, begging you to stop with my eyes (what the hell is wrong with me?!??) and you just grin around me and close your eyes and keep on – slowly, so tightly around me.  You bring your hand up to add to the mix and I feel like I’ll explode right then and there.

I start to give in, figuring I’m doomed to be smacked, right there in the dressing room.

Then you stop.

“Let’s see those pants and see how they fit,” you tell me, wiping your mouth in this erotic, grinning way.  Then you lean up and give me a deep kiss – I can taste myself on you as you pull away and sit on the silly little seat in the corner to let me change.

These fit, but for some reason you suddenly don’t like the style on me.  Go figure.  The process repeats, you making sure I’m hard as a rock and sending me on my way to get another option.

When I return, and start to change, I’m in this sex crazy fog and you take my head by my hair and pull me to you, kissing me, still with that taste of me on your lips, then press a hand to my chest as you push me to the wall.  With your other hand, you start stroking me, slowly at first, then growing more quickly as you stare me down, gauging how close I am and not edging, but going far enough that I get uncomfortable and squirm.

The longer this goes, the stronger you seem to get holding me in place.  I’m dying to either get a full on edge or 10, or more or just stop – this thing in the middle… it’s just frustrating as hell.

You finally land on a pair of pants you like, and start back in again on me.  You’re stroking and licking and pushing harder and harder to get me to the edge and you stop just a bit.  You grin at me, tell me “you’re leaking…a lot!”

“I’m sorry…” is all I can muster.  “No, no. That’s what I want.  Now get dressed.  Oh, and you’re going commando, ”  you say as my underwear slips into your purse.