He pulls gown after gown, bringing each one back to me to gauge my approval. At the slightest look of displeasure, he tosses the dresses onto the nearest rack like they offend him far more than they offend me. I have to school my features before he catches me... I don’t know... enjoying myself around him? How is that even possible? I’m repulsed at the thought.
I did not expect Jonah to be so involved in today’s purchase. Now that he is, I see the truth in his desire. He really does want to outfit a date. This isactuallybringing him happiness.
If you had told me two years ago that my student, Jonah Johanssen, would take me shopping with his own money, I wouldn’t have believed you. Not even after that night at the strip club. No part of me would have believed you until this very hour.
Paula graciously accepts Jonah’s picks, and before I know it, she’s tying me up in a strapless evening gown. Silky smooth and midnight black, it’s cool to the touch and structured in the bodice.
“There’s also a high slit,” Paula says with a little mischief in her tone. She pulls the skirt slightly to reveal my pale leg, almost completely exposed. “If it’s too much, we can lower the slit in alterations,” she says. “Shall we show him?”
I’m lost at the sight of my cleavage. Unless I’m at the beach or in my Domme outfits, I never show this much. I don’t think I’ve ever shown this much of my chest in public before.
Paula guides me out, sweeping away the fabric of the too-long skirt so I can walk easily. Jonah’s eyes pop out of their sockets and lock in the second he sees my breasts.
I’m helped onto the round step surrounded by mirrors. “Does he need a towel for the drool?” Paula murmurs from behind me.
He’s up off the couch, striding toward me to get a closer look.
He beams. “I love this one,” he says. “You should get this one.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I thought it was my choice.”
“Of course, it is! I just mean, do you like it?”
“I do,” I say with a sigh, as I admire the way the silk glides under my palms. I bunch up the skirt in my hands and spin on my heel before stepping down and leaving him in my wake. “But I think it’s too revealing for a wedding.”
“I disagree,” he says while skipping next to us. “I think this isexactlywhat you should wear to a wedding with me.”
“Sit down and wait for me.”
He stops. Nods. Sits.
There’s a curse on the tip of my tongue because the urge to call him a good boy is so overwhelming I could choke on it.
Paula puts me in six more dresses, each of them beautiful in their own way, but just not right. Jonah is, unsurprisingly, gaga over each one. The last one I try on has a double-high slit and a V cut so low it almost reaches my belly button.It’s red and flowy, and Paula confirms it was a Jonah pick he snuck in without my approval. Wholly inappropriate for a wedding. The satisfaction of not showing him is too great, so I snap a picture inside the fitting room for myself. I look hot as sin, and I want to memorialize this moment.
When I step out onto the platform and show him the eighth gown, deep indigo and velvet with long, tight sleeves, I’m sweating in the way I always do when trying on clothes for more than ten minutes. As pretty as this dress is, it doesn’t fit right, and I can’t envision myself in it even with heavy alterations. What I see before me is blotchy skin underneath a face full of freckles. Sweat trickles down my neck and forehead as I throw up my mane in a hair tie I had around my wrist.
“Are you okay?” Jonah asks. “You don’t look like you like this one.”
I finish tying the bun at the top of my head before I sigh. “I’m just warm.”
Somehow the boy materializes a bottle of water, and I’m downing the ice-cold refreshment in a few gulps.
“Is there a fan we could set up?” he asks Paula.
Today, for the first time, Paula looks unsure as she thinks. Before she can even say um, Jonah’s racing for the register and asking the staff.
Within a minute, he’s carrying a standup fan that has clearly seen better days. “They found this in the storage room,” he smiles brightly.
“Here,” Paula gestures. “Let’s get you out of this dress and cool down in the fitting room.”
I hike the skirt up all the way to my knees so my legs can breathe, and sigh. “Thank you,” I say to both of them, lingering a little extra on Jonah.
Paula plugs the fan in, and I pray the relic turns on. She pushes a button, and it whirs to life in the spacious room. I take off the dress faster than on prom night, and the breezewashes over me, giving sweet relief.
Paula apologizes for the warmth of the room, but I reassure her it’s fine; sweating is just something I expect in fitting rooms.
She busies herself with hanging the dress and organizing the others while my body temperature returns to normal and the sweat evaporates. I check my underarms and find they’re dry as a bone thanks to my extra-strength deodorant, and I chuckle to myself.
