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I lead her up to the fourth floor, and Anya continues to turn so she can look in every direction. Clearly, she’s never shopped here before by her utter astonishment, and though this mall is rather exceptional with its marble floors and plushly furnished resting areas, seeing her so affected makes my lips curl smugly. I take her to North Shore Exchange, the equivalent of Macy’s but more high-end and expensive.
“Afternoon,” one of the sales associates says brightly, greeting us at the door.
“Hi, we have an appointment with a stylist to find a few dresses,” I say.
“Wonderful.” The woman ushers over another girl dressed sharply in a black business suit and a low-cut lacy blouse that shows off her assets. “This is Amelia. She’ll be helping you today.”
“I look forward to working with you,” the stylist says. She eyes Anya up and down, gauging her size. “Do you have any particular styles in mind?”
“Classy,” I state, “with some variety in formal and casual. Don’t be afraid to pick something flattering,” I hint. “Also, she needs a proper bra–something sexy that will make her breasts look nice.”
Anya’s cheeks redden as her eyes drop to the floor.
“No problem,” Amelia says. “Feel free to look around and pull anything that catches your eye. In the meantime, I’ll put together a selection of dresses in your size. They’ll be ready for you in the dressing area whenever you’ve had enough time to look around.”
Amelia gestures to the far corner of the open store, where a set of comfortable-looking couches surround a coffee table as they face a hall of doors. A three-way mirror occupies a large portion of the space off to the side.
“Great.” Keeping my hand on the small of Anya’s back, I walk her around the store as we peruse.
I select several dresses just for fun, some that are probably more revealing than Anya’s typical attire. I plan on thoroughly enjoying this shopping expedition, so I pick the ones that will show me some extra skin. Anya doesn’t pick a single item of clothing, though I tell her she can. She’s a closed door of emotion, and I can’t make sense of whether she’s intimidated or unimpressed.
When we make our way over to the dressing room, Amelia’s already waiting, and she shows Anya which dressing room belongs to her.
“I want to see each one, Anya,” I say as I stretch out on the center blue suede couch directly facing the dressing rooms.
Anya blushes as she disappears into her dressing room.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Amelia says. “I’ll be just around the corner. Oh, I also set a pair of heels in there to finish off the look.”
“Thank you, Amelia,” I say.
She smiles and gives me a quick nod before walking away.
Emerging from the dressing room a few minutes later, Anya glitters in her chic club dress. Sapphire sequins glint as the lighting reflects off every inch of the knee-length form-fitting bodycon dress. It’s a simple cut meant to hug her curves with inch-wide straps that frame her collarbones. The color draws out the brilliant blue of her eyes. And in this dress, I’m shocked to realize her pert breasts look really good. Her athletic attire hasn’t been doing her any favors. She actually has a decent rack when she’s wearing the right bra. I imagine sliding my hand beneath the sequined fabric to palm them, and my cock twitches at the thought.
Walking briskly toward me, Anya moves gracefully in her black stilettos. Her legs are to die for with the way the heels make her calves work. She gives a simple spin and pauses.
“Yes,” I say simply. “Show me the next one.”
Turning silently, she makes her way back to her room and closes the door.
Anya enters the hallway again after a few minutes, her body sheathed in a floor-length silk dress in a brilliant emerald color. It trails behind her as she approaches me. The waist cinches nicely, showing off her slender form, then flares out again to cling to her curvy hips. It hugs her body perfectly, hanging from her neck as a halter top and dipping just low enough to suggest cleavage. It appears she can’t wear a bra with this one because, beneath the darted seams meant to mask them, I can see her hard nipples pressing against the fabric.
“Turn around,” I order, and Anya obeys. She pulls aside her thick waves of golden hair to reveal the dress’s open back. It shows off Anya’s perfect musculature as the dress sits low enough on her hips that I can spy back dimples peeking over the green fabric. “I like that one,” I state, though my cock would say it’s an understatement as it begins to bulge against my slacks. “Next.”
Anya disappears into her dressing room without a word and comes out in a third dress a few minutes later. She’s putting on the dresses Amelia picked out for her, I note, which appear to be more modest. And while I like this short, flowing white dress with accordion pleats and a high collar, I want to see her in one of the dresses I picked out.
“Try the red dress next,” I command.
Anya complies, and when she strides toward me in the crimson dress, my mouth goes dry. The perfectly placed asymmetrical cutouts in the velvet fabric give me a tantalizing view of her side boob, under cleavage, and flat stomach. Her blush tells me she’s uncomfortable with how much skin this dress reveals, and I fucking love it. It leaves little to the imagination, the scraps of fabric more like a mini skirt attached by several slivers that run up her body at an angle to connect to the revealing bodice. And while the collar is high, this dress is anything but modest.
My gaze rakes down her body as my cock pulses in my slacks. Fuck, I like that dress. Anya doesn’t wait for my approval this time before she spins on her toes and dashes back to the dressing room, her arms covering as much of her exposed flesh as she can. I chuckle darkly, enjoying the way she squirms under my watchful eye.
Every dress she puts on looks stunning with her perfect body to model it. It doesn’t matter the shape or style. Each one makes me harder as I imagine stripping it off her. Her final outfit is a knit long-sleeve sweater dress that clings to her curves and comes down to her midthigh. Made of a black, ribbed fabric, it looks incredibly soft. But the best part is the plunging neckline that extends down far enough to expose her belly button. Thin string crisscrosses over the opening, securely lacing it without covering her milky flesh. It fits with her black peep-toe heels perfectly. Even Anya seems silently appreciative as she smooths the fabric down over her thighs.
“Good,” I state, rising from my seat on the couch to stride toward her. “This is your outfit for tonight. Keep it on.” I circle her once, succumbing to the temptation to touch her silky locks as I brush her golden hair over her shoulder so I can see the back. A golden zipper runs up her spine.
“How did we like those?” Amelia asks when I call her over.
