Chapter 5: The Familiar Face
The mall hummed its afternoon rhythm, the distant clatter of the food court and the low bass of a store speaker bleeding together into white noise. Matt stood outside Silhouette's glass front, his shoulders filling the frame of the doorway. He spotted her at the counter and his face split into that familiar, easy grin.
"Megan!" He waved, a big, open gesture. "'Sup!"
She raised a hand back, the plastic hanger in her grip swaying. The burgundy chemise swung with it, silk catching the light. She'd pulled it from the rack twenty minutes ago, just after the morning rush had died. The training voice had been humming steady in her skull since she clocked in, low and constant, like a refrigerator in a quiet kitchen.
Matt's jeans were faded at the knees. His climbing shoes hung from a carabiner on his backpack strap, swinging as he walked. He smelled like chalk dust and deodorant when he reached the counter, leaning his elbows on it.
"So, Dave says you're the expert." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "I need the good stuff. Three months with Jess on Saturday. I was thinking maybe some nice underwear?"
"You came to the right place." The words came out smooth, professional. The training voice swelled beneath them, warm and approving. "She's got a similar frame to mine, right? Athletic?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Matt scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know her exact size though. I was hoping you could help with that."
Megan stepped out from behind the counter. The burgundy chemise swung from her hand like a banner. "I can do better than guess. I'll show you what it looks like on a real body, then you can decide if it's her vibe."
Matt's eyebrows went up. "You'd do that?"
"It's part of the service." She gestured toward the back of the store. "The VIP fitting rooms have better lighting. Feel more like a real boutique experience."
He followed her through the racks of lace and mesh, past the standard fitting rooms, until they reached the emerald velvet curtain at the end of the hallway. The fabric was heavy, expensive. She pulled it aside and gestured him in.
The room was mirrored floor to ceiling, every angle catching her reflection as she stepped inside. An emerald bench sat against the far wall, draped in cream velvet. The air smelled like vanilla and leather polish.
Matt stood in the center, looking around with the slightly awkward stance of a big man in a small room. "This is... nice. Fancy."
"Hang your backpack there." She pointed at a brass hook by the door. "You can sit if you want."
He shrugged the bag off, hanging it with a clunk of carabiners. He settled onto the bench, his hands on his knees, watching her with open curiosity as she laid the chemise over the back of a velvet chair.
"Okay, so," she said, her fingers finding the hem of her shirt. She tugged it over her head, and the air hit her bare skin. Matt's eyes went wide, his jaw working. "The burgundy brings out warmth in the skin. It's a cut that works for a lot of body types." She unclasped her bra and let it fall, her breasts swinging free. He swallowed hard, visibly. "Silk feels incredible against the skin, too. You can touch it, if you want to know what I mean."
"Megan," he said, his voice rough. "What are you doing?"
"Showing you the product." The training voice was loud now, a steady chorus. She stepped closer, close enough that his knees brushed her thighs. She picked up his hand and brought it to her ribcage, guiding his palm over the curve of her breast. "Feel that. That's the quality you're paying for."
Matt's hand was warm on her breast, his fingers spread wide over the silk of her skin. He didn't pull away. He swallowed again, his throat working, and his eyes went from her face to her bare chest and back.
"Megan, I... this is not how I figured this would go."
"Three months is a milestone." She stepped back, letting his hand fall. The loss of contact made something flicker across his face. "You want it to be special. Something she'll remember."
She turned to the rack of samples she'd pulled before he arrived. The red lace was first, but she passed it. The black mesh was too aggressive. She found the champagne set, the one that was all sheer panels and delicate straps, and held it up. The fabric was barely there, a whisper of nothing.
"This one," she said. "It's new. The cut's designed to flatter an athletic frame."
She stepped out of her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles. Her panties followed. Matt's breath came out of him in a rough rush, and his hands curled into fists on his knees. She worked the sheer set on slowly, the lace whispering over her hips, the straps settling on her shoulders. The fabric did nothing to hide her. It framed her, drew the eye to every line and curve.
"Jesus," Matt breathed. He was shifting on the bench, his jeans suddenly looking tight.
"See how it moves?" She pivoted slowly, letting him take in the back, the way the lace dipped low over her ass. "The mesh is forgiving. It'll fit Jess close to this. And the straps mean it's adjustable."
He didn't answer. His eyes were dark, fixed on her. She crossed to him, stopping between his knees. She picked up his hand again, the same guiding motion as before, and pressed his palm flat against her stomach. His fingers curled against the lace.
"You can touch," she said. "It's part of the service. Feel the quality."
His hand moved on its own. It slid up, over the sheer mesh of the bra, cupping her breast with a rough possessiveness that sent a jolt through her. He squeezed, and she heard his breath catch.
"Is Jess going to let me feel this good?" His voice was strained.
"Maybe better." She moved his other hand to her hip, guiding it down to the curve of her ass. His fingers dug in. "This set makes everything that much more accessible."
His hands were everywhere now. He gripped her hips, pulled her flush against him. She could feel him hard through his jeans, a thick, insistent pressure against her belly. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his mouth hot on her skin.
"Fuck, Megan. This is crazy." He pulled back, his pupils blown wide. "You're Dave's girl. I shouldn't..."
"One of the ways to tailor a set to your partner is to see it from all angles." She sank to her knees between his spread thighs. The carpet was thick, the same plush velvet as the bench. She looked up at him, his hands already working his belt.
His cock was heavy in her hands when she held him. He was hard, leaking at the tip, and his breath came in short, ragged bursts. She leaned in and took him in her mouth, and he made a noise somewhere between a groan and a hiss.
"Fuck me," he whispered. "Fuck me, Megan."
She worked him deep, her tongue tracing the vein along the underside. He tasted like salt and skin and something raw. She swallowed him down, taking him to the base, and his hand found her hair, gripping the roots with a desperate urgency.
"Just imagine Jess wearing this," she said, pulling off just long enough to speak. "Imagine her on her knees for you like this. That's what you're buying today. A gift for her and a fantasy for you."
Matt's hips bucked, and she took him deep again, the hit of his cock on the back of her throat grounding her in what she was giving him: a gift wrapped in coffee scents and afternoon light.
She worked him until his hips were rocking off the bench, his hand fisted in her hair. Then she pulled off, letting his cock slap wet against his stomach. He made a desperate sound, almost a whine.
"What are you doing?"
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The sheer mesh of the champagne set stuck to her skin, damp from the heat of her body. She stood, letting him see her, all of her, the lace framing her breasts and the dip between her thighs.
"That's the baseline fit," she said. "But there's one more thing I can demonstrate."
Matt's eyes went dark. His hands gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles white. "What else?"
She stepped between his knees, close enough that the heat of him radiated through the thin mesh. She reached down and hooked her thumbs into the crotch of the panties. The fabric stretched, then slid aside, exposing her bare cunt to the cool air and to his hungry stare.
"The full-range test," she said. "This is where we check how the set holds up under real conditions."
He was on his feet before she finished, his hands closing on her hips. He spun her around, bending her over the emerald bench. The velvet was cool against her cheek, the cream throw bunching under her forearms. His hands tore at his jeans, shoving them down his thighs, and she heard the snap of a button hitting the floor.
"Fuck, Megan." His voice was thick, ragged. "I can't believe you're letting me do this."
"It's the demonstration." She pushed her ass back against him, grinding the lace against his cock. He was hard again, slick and heavy against the mesh. "You need to know the set holds up to everything."
He found the stretch of the panties with his fingers. He pulled them aside, the elastic biting into her hip, and his cock pressed against her wet slit. He dragged the head through her slickness once, twice, coating himself, and she heard him groan.
"You gonna take it, then?"
"Show me what it's for."
He drove into her in one hard thrust. She cried out, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the velvet. He was thicker than the customer, thicker than Mr. Garth, and the stretch of him filled her completely. He pulled back and slammed in again, and the bench rocked under her weight.
"That's it," she gasped. "That's exactly what the set is designed for."
His hand came down on her ass, a sharp slap that echoed off the mirrors. She jerked, a fresh wave of heat flooding through her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, bending over her so his chest pressed against her spine.
"Look at us," he said. "Look at the mirrors."
She raised her eyes. The mirrors caught everything, an infinity of Megans being fucked over the emerald bench, an infinity of Matt's flushed face and the champagne lace hiked up around her hips. The sight of it, the sheer wrongness of it, made her cunt clench hard around him.
He felt it. He groaned, his rhythm stuttering. "Jesus, Meg. You're so tight."
The training voice was a roar in her skull. The only thing that feels better than helping a client finish is making one of your bosses finish. But Matt wasn't her boss. Matt was Dave's friend. The thought was a bright hot wire, and it made her moan instead of stopping her.
"Faster," she said. "Fuck me harder."
He gave her what she asked for. His hips snapped, driving into her over and over, the bench slamming against the mirrored wall. She could feel the orgasm building, coiling low in her belly, and she pushed her hips back to meet every thrust.
"I'm close," he warned. "Where do you want it?"
"In me." She didn't think. The words came out raw, desperate. "Come inside me."
He swore, a long low curse, and drove in deep. He came with a shuddering groan, his hips grinding against her ass, and she felt the hot flood of him fill her. That did it. Her own orgasm crashed through her, a hard clenching wave that tore a raw scream from her throat and left her shaking against the velvet.
He stayed inside her, breathing hard, his weight heavy on her back. Then he pulled out, and she felt the mess of it slide down her thigh. He stood, tucking himself away with shaking hands.
"Shit," he said. "I need to buy that set."
Shee pulled the champagne panties back up over her hips with a wince, the lace clinging to the sticky mess between her thighs. The fabric was ruined, sheer mesh streaked and damp. She'd have to write it off as damaged inventory. The thought came with a strange calm, a ledger entry in the back of her mind.
Matt stood by the bench, zipping his jeans. His hands were still shaking. He kept glancing at the mirrors, then away, like he couldn't quite believe what he'd just done.
"That was..." He trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. That was supposed to be about Jess."
"It's still about Jess." Megan stood, the champagne set clinging to her sweat-damp skin. She smoothed the mesh over her hips, adjusting the straps. "You know what she likes now. You saw the full-range test."
He laughed, a short, ragged sound. "That's one way to put it."
She crossed to the wash station by the counter, a small alcove with a sink and a stack of white towels. She ran the water cold and scrubbed her face, then her chest, then between her thighs. The towel came away streaked with a mix of her slick and his come. She folded it neatly and dropped it in the hamper.
Matt watched her, his gaze following her hands. When she turned back, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but she was already reaching for the samples rack.
"I'd buy the champagne set," she said. "It's the one that fits. She's got a similar frame to me, so the sizing will be close."
"Right." He nodded, swallowing. "Good. Great."
She changed out of the set, folding it carefully into tissue paper. The black box went on the counter beside the register. Her own clothes went back on, the familiar denim and cotton a relief against her skin. The training voice hummed its quiet approval.
She rang up the sale. The screen glowed, numbers ticking up. She paused, her fingers hovering over the keypad.
"You're Dave's friend," she said. "So I'll waive the fitting fee. That's a service charge we usually add for the VIP room experience." She hit a few keys. "Consider it a discount."
Matt's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Seriously? Thanks, Megan. That's... that's really good of you."
"Part of the service." She slid the black box into a sleek bag, twisting the handles. "Three months is a milestone. She's gonna love it."
He took the bag, his fingers brushing hers. For a second he held her gaze, and she saw the question in his eyes, the one he was too smart to ask out loud.
"I won't say anything to Dave," he said quietly.
She nodded. The training voice swelled, warm and satisfied. She didn't need to say anything else.