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Rossi obeys, grabbing the other two dresses on their hangers and draping them over his arm.
My cheeks flush red at the idea ofeverybodyseeing me play dress up. Pavone has the strangest mix of possessiveness and exhibitionism where I’m concerned, like he wants the world to see me and know what he andonlyhe has.
Pavone starts to drag me toward the door, and Angelo gets out of the way so Pavone can take the lead. I stumble a few times before I adjust to his quickened pace, but he continues on relentlessly toward the stairs. I hurry up, not wanting to trip and get dragged down them, but that just means we get to the foot of the staircase that much faster.
A few of the men are milling around, and they turn their attention on us as soon as we come downstairs. They straighten, like they were working, under Pavone’s attention, but their eyes stray to me before long.
“My wife-to-be bought a few dresses, and we have a difference of opinion on whether they were worth the cost,” Pavone says to them. “So we’re going to have her model them for us. Outside, where there’s more space. All of you, follow.”
The men seem confused by the order, but I can’t help the dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. Nothing good can come of this. My only consolation is that if it’s outside, I’m unlikely to get physically harmed. My father had trees planted for privacy, but it would still be too risky if I started screaming.
The patio is nicer than Victor’s, with a trellis that directs roses overhead. Pavone drags me to the center of the entertaining area, all of the men following. I notice Angelo stopping by the trellis and looking at the roses. Like he’s admiring the gardening, even though I’m currently terrified about what’s about to happen.
Pavone lets go of me and claps his hands to draw attention. “Listen up! My future wife spent twelve grand on some ugly ass dresses, which she insists look nice. Now, I’m not much of a fashionista, so maybe she’s right. I wanted a second opinion.” He claps my ass. “Turn around for everyone, babe, let them see the full dress.”
It hurts to maintain my smile, but I do the slow turn so they can all appreciate just how… badly the dress fits.
Of course, even if it was the best dress imaginable, Pavone’s made it clear what opinion he wants his men to give. When he asks them what they think, they all start booing.
Only Rossi and Angelo are silent throughout this sick little show.
Pavone nods approvingly. “That’s what I thought. You’ll have to make it up to me, babe. Get on your knees.”
“But the dress…”
“Is too ugly for me to worry about.”
“I could return it,” I try, not wanting to get down on my knees in front of all these men.
He smirks at me. “I have a better idea. Now kneel down, babe, before I lose my patience with you.”
I slowly sink to my knees in the dirt, and I wish more than ever that I hadn’t let my guilt over the fucking dressing room lead me to buy these two extra dresses. Maybe I should’ve started with the white one. I know he’ll like that one. Stupid. I was fucking stupid.
He runs his hand through my hair, tilting my head up until I’m craning my neck to meet his eyes. “I hope the next one’s better.”
The white one. I’ll wear the white one next.
Pavone starts to unfasten his belt, and I grimace. I can already see where this is going. When he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out from his boxers, I open my mouth and close my eyes. He starts laughing. “I wouldn’t open my mouth if I was you, babe,” he says.
I instantly close my mouth, looking at him in confusion—just in time to feel the first spray of his piss land on my shoulder. It’s all I can do not to let my mouth drop open again in sheer shock, and I tightly close my eyes as he starts to soak the dress from the top down.
The stench of urine fills my nostrils, and it takes all of my effort not to gag. Hot piss turns cold quickly, numbing me.
When he first started pissing, everybody went quiet. The only sound is the stream hitting me and dripping down to the patio pavement.
Then Pavone says, “What’s with the silence? This isn’t a funeral.”
The men start to laugh nervously while Pavone keeps pissing, and I feel humiliation soak through me as thoroughly as the dress is getting soaked with urine.
And out of everything Pavone has done to me, this is the first time I’ve felt like I’m going to break down.
I want to look to Angelo for comfort, but I don’t dare avert my gaze from Pavone. He’s sneering down at me, like he’s daring me to protest. I don’t want to give him any reason to escalate.
Finally, the stream runs out, and Pavone lets out a long, satisfied sigh. “That’s better.” He zips himself up and takes a step back. “All right, next dress.”
The fabric was already tight, but now it’s clinging to my body. I’m not even sure I can get it off without help, and I don’t particularly want to undress in front of this group of men. But I don’t want Pavone to decide I’m not worth keeping to himself, either.
I fumble with the zipper, not daring to protest, and start to ease it down. The piss-laden garment is hard to get free of, but I manage. I hesitate between the white dress and the green one. I don’t want to ruin the white dress by pulling it on over my disgusting body, but I don’t want him to get even angrier at me by putting the high-necked one on instead.
