target on sunday at 2:47pm is basically empty except for the clearance-bin shoppers and the people who forgot something for meal prep. ryan’s truck is in the parking lot under the oak tree, the big ford with the hvac logo on the door. he’s waiting. he doesn’t know what for yet.
i found the dress in the juniors section. it’s cream colored, backless, the kind of thing that looks like nothing on the hanger but makes you want to die when you try it on. i’m 4 months in with ryan, almost 5, and he still gets this face sometimes when he sees me, like he’s doing math in his head and coming up with an impossible answer. i wanted to push the button on that.
fitting room is at 2:51. nobody in the queue. the attendant is this tired blonde girl in a target vest who barely looks up when i hand her three items. i grab six, actually, to be honest, throw on some clearance jeans i don’t care about. she writes down the number on the plastic tag: 7. beige room, left wall, mirror that goes all the way to the floor.
the dress fits exactly like i thought it would. the backless part sits low enough that you can see the soft curve of my lower back, the small of it. my cock is hard already and you can tell through the fabric a little, but the cut is loose enough that it reads more like just the shape of me. i look good. i look like someone’s girlfriend. someone’s.
i text him: “do you dare”
the photo is just me in the dress from the front, angled down, dress hitting mid-thigh, thigh-highs visible, my face cropped out. just the evidence.
his response takes 90 seconds: “shit. im outside”
the door opens. i hear his boots on the tile before i see him. ryan works construction/hvac, he’s got this hands-on way of moving like he’s estimating the weight of everything. he finds my room. doesn’t knock. just opens the door.
the fitting room is the size of a closet. he’s wearing the gray uniform shirt with his name patch. he sees the dress and then he sees me and he closes the door behind him soft, like that makes it less illegal.
“you’re insane,” he says. his voice is already lower.
“is that a yes?”
“we’re gonna get caught.”
“maybe. you want to leave?”
he doesn’t leave. he steps in close. the room smells like fabric softener and his deodorant, that boring old-spice thing that shouldn’t work on anyone but does on him. he touches the backless part, runs his finger down my spine, and i can see his eyes in the mirror.
“how long do we have,” he says.
“ten minutes before they wonder. maybe fifteen.”
he doesn’t waste time. he pulls me around to face him, backs me into the corner where the two mirrors meet, and kisses me. his hand is in my hair. his other hand goes straight down to pull my cock out, hard and flushed against my thigh, and he strokes it once and i gasp against his mouth.
“lock it?” he says.
there’s a flimsy button lock on the inside of the door. i reach over and click it. it sounds LOUD. we both freeze. outside, the attendant calls a number: “number 3!”
“anyone out there?” he whispers.
i’m listening. i hear her moving. nobody’s coming to the fitting rooms right now. “no. go.”
he spins me around, back to the mirror, and pulls my dress up. it’s gathered at my waist. my cock is fully hard now and he’s looking at me in the reflection, at my whole body, like he’s trying to memorize it. he drops to his knees.
“you’re gonna have to be quiet,” he says. “that’s not gonna be easy for you.”
“fuck you.”
“in a second.”
he puts his mouth on me and i have to bite my lip so hard i taste blood. he sucks slow, just the head first, his hand wrapped around the base, and he’s good at this, he’s gotten good at this, like it’s something he’s worked out how to do so i feel loved in the process. his tongue is flat against the underside and i can see his head move in the mirror, see myself above him all dressed up for target, all dressed for him.
the attendant calls another number. four.
his mouth gets deeper. i’m shaking. my hand goes to his shoulder and he reaches back and grabs my wrist, pins it to the mirror, and keeps going. my cock is sliding all the way to the back of his throat and he’s not gagging, he’s got this rhythm where he takes it all and comes back and takes it all again. i can feel it already, that tightness, that countdown.
“ryan,” i breathe. “i’m close.”
he pulls off, gets up, and turns me to face the mirror. he’s still fully clothed, his shirt still tucked in his work pants, and that’s so hot it’s making me dizzy. he unzips and pulls himself out and he’s already leaking, already so hard he’s curved up against his stomach. he strokes it twice and lines himself up with my hole.
“ready?”
“yes.”
he pushes in and i have to clap my hand over my own mouth because the sound i make is too loud. he’s thick and he goes slow, letting me feel every inch, and his hand comes up and replaces mine over my mouth. he fucks me against the mirror like he can feel how much time we don’t have, like he’s trying to use it all. the sound of the slap of his hips against my ass is the loudest thing but it’s deadened by the fitting room, it doesn’t travel, nobody’s gonna hear that.
my hand goes down and i wrap it around my own cock, stroke it in time with his hips, and he watches me do it in the mirror with his jaw tight.
“you’re so—” he starts and can’t finish. his hand is still over my mouth, not rough, just there, and my eyes are already rolled back. the dress is around my waist and i look like a god in the mirror, all skin and cock and his hand on my mouth, and it’s too much.
i come first. it hits me sideways. i’m stroking and he’s inside me and my whole body locks up and i come all over my own hand and some on the mirror and his hand muffles the noise i make which is probably good because it’s the kind of noise you shouldn’t make in target. he keeps moving, keeps fucking, and he’s gotta be close, he’s been close, and he pulls all the way out and grabs himself and comes on the inside of my thigh, on the dress, long strokes into his own hand.
we stand there for a second. his hand is still over my mouth even though i’m not making noise anymore. he kisses the back of my neck.
“you’re evil,” he says.
“you came though.”
“i came though,” he agrees. he steps back, tucks himself in, zips up. he still looks like he just came in here from his truck. i look like i just got fucked. “okay. um. what’s the play here.”
“i buy the dress.”
“you’re buying it.”
“yeah. i’m buying it. you go back to the truck. three minutes. be normal.”
he laughs, quiet, kisses me one more time on the shoulder, and lets himself out.
i take my time. pull the dress back down. wipe my hand on a fitting room towel that target is definitely gonna throw away. check myself in the mirror. my thighs are still shaking but i look exactly like someone who just tried on clothes. someone who’s gonna spend money.
i walk out with the dress and the five other things i grabbed and i walk right to the checkout. the attendant marks down the items as i leave. i don’t look at her. i wait in line. my dress is wrinkled from being bunched at my waist. my hair is messed up. i’m pretty sure there’s cum on the inside of my thigh.
the girl at the register has a lanyard covered in enamel pins and she scans the dress. “this one’s cute on you,” she says.
“yeah?”
“yeah. the backless thing is really you.”
i laugh because i can’t help it. “thanks.”
she bags it up. the receipt prints. long, like all target receipts. she tears it off.
“how’d everything work out in the fitting room?” she asks, handing it to me. her job. she says it to everyone.
“perfect,” i say. “found exactly what i was looking for.”
ryan’s truck is idling in the parking lot. i walk past the window without looking at him and get in the passenger side. he’s already pulling out.
“so,” he says, his hand on my thigh. “same time next week?”
“don’t push it.”
“we got away with it though.”
“we did. and you want to do it again.”
“i really do.”
i open the target bag and look at the receipt. $31.47. the dress is worth it just for the look on his face in that mirror. but the receipt is funny. normal. like i just bought a normal dress in a normal fitting room, like an entire illegal situation didn’t just happen.
“you’re looking at the receipt,” he says.
“i’m looking at the receipt.”
“what are you thinking.”
“i’m thinking i’m keeping this forever.”
