I had been looking forward to this afternoon for a while. Taking a day off from my work was not that easy, especially not with all the cheerleader exercises starting around four o'clock. It usually meant starting early at work, and no break. But today I could get away and I found myself walking through the city's shopping centre, gazing at the many boutiques and looking for clothes. My boyfriend had stated that some peculiar outfit should fit me, and I had agreed to try it out. Being a hard-core loose-jumper-and-full-skirt type, I was a bit dubious about the probable outcome, but trying new things was not wrong. And his mother had also pointed me in the same direction anyway. I took the first nice little shop where they did not play loud music kind of stuff and did not display a gazillion different types of the same jeans. It was a cute place with an assortment that should get me somewhere. A rack with jumpers invited me to browse through them, and after a minute I heard the shop assistant sneaking up on me from behind. "Good afternoon m'me. Can I help you?" I was puzzled for a moment. I knew that voice. Where had I heard it before? Curiously I turned around and stood eye in eye with Cindy, one of the members of my cheerleading team. She grinned. "Yes, it's me. I work here two afternoons in the week. Looking for something special?" Just like me, Cindy had a favourite outfit, but her style was quite different. She almost always wore a white blouse, a short, tight black leather skirt, and high heels. Today was no exception. She was one of those girls who really like to show off, and to be honest, Cindy had a lot to show off. With her long blond hair and cute, friendly face, she could probably get a job as a photo model right away. But apparently being a shop assistant was more fun to her. I did not mind. It even eased the conversation. "Something special? Yes and no. People have been pushing me to look for something different these days. They tell me that I should not always wear long and loose garments. Even my friend's mother tries to convince me to wear something else. So to prove to them that it won't work because it won't fit me, I decided to buy one new outfit. Maybe you have some ideas?" Cindy did as if she was surprised. "Won't fit you? Come on Diana, you've the most ideal body for about anything in fashion these days. You can wear it all. Don't be silly. You'll look great. Can it be a bit challenging or should we stay on the safe side?" I shook my head: "Safe side. I should be able to wear it when visiting his parents. And I don't like gear that I should wear only to a dancing anyway." Cindy about gasped and almost yelled: "Diana, stop it! You wear the absolutely most challenging flashy red cheerleader outfit at least three times a week in full public, and probably more together with your boyfriend in your apartment. Everybody is staring at you in admiration and your boyfriend risks attacks on his life by only walking next to you. And now you tell me it shouldn't be challenging? I refuse. I cannot possibly sell you something that is NOT challenging, because YOU are challenging, just you on your own. Forget about not attracting attention. Even if you cut off your hair, wear a green mask and walk in old charcoal bags, you will still be challenging. Forget it." I was silent for a moment. I knew I was good-looking, but this outburst from somebody I always thought to be quite a dandy herself surprised me. Should I? Should I indeed get myself something to show off, like she wore all the time? Something cute but still serious and professional? Cindy left me alone with myself and quickly browsed through several racks, picking up suspicious clothes in the process. Ahem. No, not that rack, please...to late. I swallowed when she came back with her arms full of garments. "So, here is something to begin with. There is the fitting room. First these jumpers." To make a long story short, they all ruthlessly exposed the contours of my breasts and followed every curve of my chest and belly. Awful. I felt almost naked. Wearing the last jumper, a tight black one that was also a bit on the short side, I shyly left the little room and faced Cindy. "Cindy, please. This is something for thirteen year old girls who are just developing their chest. I'm twenty-nine. I can't wear these." She said nothing and circled me like a hawk. "Sold," she just announced, and took all the other jumpers from the fitting room. Including my own sweater. "Hey, silly! Leave my jumper here! I'll need it!" She smiled and told me that I would get it back tomorrow afternoon, after the cheerleader practice. Hell. If she had made up her mind like this, nothing short of a true fight between ladies would get my jumper back. I turned back to the fitting room and looked at myself in the mirror, especially in profile. Well. Yes. Fortunately I had small breasts. And Cindy was right in the fact that my cheerleader uniform emphasized my chest at least as clearly. Alright then. The jumper was black, so it did not show obvious shadows where I did not want them, and in any case it was made of material I liked. Under a blazer it would do quite nice. Cindy appeared again, smiling when she saw me looking at myself. "You see? It works, no problem. Not that many people can wear these jumpers, but for you they're perfect. Now for the skirt. No matter how elegant your long skirt is, your legs deserve better." In horror I saw what she carried: three skirts about the length of my hand. "No way, Cindy. I'm NOT going to wear one of those. A cheerleader uniform must have a skimpy skirt, alright, but today I wear my normal panties and they are not meant to be exposed to the world with every movement. I want to stay respectable, not look like some cheap street slut." Cindy sulked: "Well, thanks," and looked down to her own little skirt. I blushed. "I did not mean that, Cindy. Honest. No offence. You're looking great. But I'm quite a bit older than you are, and then wearing such a skirt..." Cindy said nothing and just pointed at a poster on the wall. I looked. It showed a typical business woman in career wear with brief case and portable phone, certainly older than me, in a blazer and a tight skirt revealing her knees and half her thighs. I swallowed. "It's about the most common career look, Diana, and your age is not an issue here. You've got the legs and everything. Just try. These skirts are not loose and wide. They are tighter and have no pleats, so they don't flip up when you twirl or when the wind blows. But they neither are elastic and do not cling to you hips and ass. As long as you keep your knees together, they are quite respectable. Respectable enough for you." Of course I gave in, took of my boots and long skirt, and a moment later I looked at myself in the mirror, wearing both the tight jumper and one of the new skirts. Cindy was right, it was tight enough to prevent me feeling completely exposed, and it was quite a bit longer than I assumed at first. It came down almost halfway my thighs. I tried to stoop over, and it did not hamper the movement, yet it did not ride up either. And when I just stood upright, it did not cling to my thighs but left a few centimetres free all around. Skirt design had come a long way. "Are they all the same?" I asked Cindy. She nodded. "All the same except for the colour. I wouldn't advise this black one, it makes you too dark in general. White is too strong against the jumper. Try this one." She handed me a dark-green skirt, about the colour of playing tables at a casino. I pulled down the black skirt and Cindy disappeared in the store to put all clothes back in place. With the dark- green skirt around my hips I looked in the mirror again. Alright, the colour combination was okay. A golden necklace would do no harm though. I could wear both the black boots that I happened to have on my feet when entering the store, and the low brown shoes I had at home. Curiously I put on my boots. I had to sit down on the tiny bench for that, and as expected, my red panties flashed between my thighs. I mostly wore red these days, because this colour has some nice features when it gets wet. Even my boyfriend had started to purchase red briefs. It was a bit against my habits to keep my knees closed all the time, no matter what I wore, but with this outfit I should be more careful. I already looked forward teasing my boyfriend. After putting on my boots, I rose to my feet and inspected myself in the full-length mirror outside the fitting room. Not bad. A bit leggy, if anything. People would look twice. The boots were not exactly the right thing to wear, because they emphasized my legs too much, but it was fairly acceptable when going out. A pair of sneakers would do nicely otherwise. I looked around the shop, but Cindy was nowhere to be seen. When buying clothes I always took into account the possibilities they offered for sneaky fun, and although I doubted the usefulness of the skirt, I wanted to experiment a bit. Quickly I parted my legs about half a meter and checked with my hand if the front of the skirt stayed clear of my panties. Surprisingly, it did! Suddenly the skirt became much more attractive to me. With my legs still apart, I checked the skirt at my bum. "That's okay, it won't stain," Cindy's voice announced. I mumbled "Shit" and recomposed my posture. "Respectable, eh?" Cindy sniggered. "But you're right, I never skip that test myself. Luckily I can wear leather as well as fabric. It solves a lot of problems, you know. You learn what freedom is by wearing leather skirts." Teasingly, her hands slid down over her hips and thighs. "When you want to go in your panties up this skirt, do you open your legs?" I asked her bluntly. She did not even blink: "Sometimes. But usually I am not alone, and then I have to stand with my legs together. Like now. Not that it matters that much. My panties are still there." Her hands stopped moving and I saw her tense her muscles. Would she...? Cindy looked in a mirror and smiled at herself, grasping the hem of her tiny skirt. Then she bent her knees a little, sighed as from relief and from somewhere down below, I heard a short, sharp hiss. I immediately recognized the sound. Hidden from all view by her skirt, Cindy had done a good spurt in her panties, in her WET panties to be exact. I could clearly tell the difference between a muffled, dry spurt and a wet one. "Cindy! Have you been wet all the time?" She smiled and nodded. "Yup. It's usually the first thing I do after classes have ended. I like to trickle all day, but during classes I have to sit down and that prevents the fun. I can only trickle once or twice before it soaks through, even when wearing two pairs of panties. So I usually save up everything for after classes. When we have cheerleading practice, I do it all nicely in my uniform of course, but otherwise my double panties can take three or four spurts before they start to leak. I walk from college to home or to the shop and do a spurt once in a while, to stay warm and wet. When it starts trickling down my legs I either just walk on or hide behind a trash can in the park for a while, with my legs opened a bit, and just go to the toilet in my skirt. But I usually don't want to gush it all out, it's more fun keeping my panties wet over a few hours. Oh, I'm getting excited only by talking about it. I'll grant myself another one." She looked down to her leather mini and I heard another firm spurt, this time followed by a drop running down her inner left thigh. "Oops. One too many." Cindy routinely rubbed her thighs together, causing some more drops to come out, and wiped them all away with one movement of her right calf. "Mmm, wet again. Such a lovely feeling. But you know that yourself! Why don't you try it now? These skirts really are good." I looked back into the mirror. Wearing this outfit and then wetting my panties? Here? Talk about respectable indeed. I parted my legs again and inspected my pose. Perfect for a cheerleader, useless elsewhere, especially with a short skirt. I would have to adjust my technique. Wearing long, loose skirts definitely had its advantages. Cindy helped me: "Forget about opening your legs. That's only for the gushing part, which you want to avoid. You need to wee tiny bits and let your panties soak it up, not just pass it through. Only when you cannot spurt for an hour or so, you need to find a sheltered spot and spread to go to the toilet. Obviously you cannot squat down in these skirts." She smiled: "I once contacted a clothing manufacturer to inquire if there would be interest in producing skirts with plastic lining on the inside, but they claimed there was no market for such garments. Fools. The cycling pants industry is a lot smarter. More women in marketing, I bet." I pulled my legs together and tried to stand normally. "That's better. Now just imagine you're in uniform and you'll be wet in no time flat. Those panties you wear can take two spurts." The shop bell rang and Cindy turned towards the new customer, leaving me in front of the mirror, with all my naughty thoughts. Of course it was completely silly to wet myself here, in clothes that were not even mine. Yet. I was convinced that I should buy them, by now. My boyfriend would go wild and there were occasions that I could wear them in public as well. But initiating them right here? I looked to Cindy, who was busy showing pantyhose to an older woman. It would be quite simple, if I followed Cindy's advice. Don't do a wee, just spurt. No problem. I went into the fitting room again to adjust my red panties for action and to do a last inspection of my clothes. The jumper fell about one centimetre over the belt of the skirt, so it was completely safe, and the skirt itself seemed both safe and quite insensitive to stains. Some lining would be reassuring though, there was not much room for error. I knew the material of my panties. It would quickly absorb and spread the wee, so that both the front and the back of my crotch would get wet, probably creeping up quite high. Spurting would lead to even more spreading because the material would get more chance to soak up the wee. It would be a matter of self- control. Cindy indeed had the advantage of a leather skirt, she could just drop her savings and enjoy. But I would have to do with fabric. I pulled my skirt down as far as I could, which was not that far anyway, did a last check, and looked at my long skirt on the bench. Emergency kit. A shiver ran over my spine as I realized how much I wanted to get wet in these clothes. Just a bit. Just a stain between my legs and a drop or two. Wearing flashy red panties up a short green skirt was already exciting, but wetting them fully on purpose and then keeping them on while walking home would be a tremendous turn- on. I went deeper into the store, away from the pantyhose circus, and gazed into every mirror I passed. Okay, I looked great. They won. I could wear such clothes. And nobody would expect me to purposely wet myself, let alone under such a tiny skirt. With a smile I imagined how I would surprise my boyfriend tonight. First with the jumper and the skirt, then with my wet panties. Wet panties. Just a spurt. Only one. I stopped in front of the next mirror, looked back to Cindy and co, and then fixed my eyes on my green skirt in the mirror, down one- third of my thighs. Even after hundreds of intentional wettings in my panties, this time it took courage and concentration. I kept my legs closely together, a bit against my habits, and tried to wee in my underwear. Nope. I stayed far too respectable. To distract myself a bit, I made a round through the shop and picked up a green blazer that went well with my skirt and eyes. It fell nicely over my breasts and both buttoned and unbuttoned it was not too revealing. Now my tight boots certainly became an issue, but the shop did not store shoes. I turned around in front of a mirror and actually liked what I saw. Independent woman, self-assured. Professional business partner. Sort of sexually correct, not daring, yet promising. Very promising. I returned to the previous mirror, watching Cindy as she stood behind the counter. The customer was on the other side, facing me. Cindy looked over her shoulder for a moment, saw me fooling around, and smiled. Invisible for the pantyhose woman, she spread her legs a bit, bent over the counter so that her skirt rode up to reveal her navy blue panties, and reached up her skirt from behind to pluck at her obviously stained underwear. Almost as if she was seducing me. I blushed and looked away, but the sight of her publicly wet panties definitely got me excited. Yes, I wanted to get wet as well, as soon as possible. The rising excitement, that wonderful moment of giving in, the spreading warmth. Only for myself. And then I felt I needed to pee. Everything was ready, I could go any moment I wanted. No more preparations needed. I stopped at the mirror, turned towards it, and opened and bent my knees a bit with my feet still together. It felt more like I was going to wee in my skirt than in my panties. But it could not go wrong. As a tickle in my groin asked for relief, I self-assuredly put my arms before my chest and felt the shiver go up my spine again. At the top, it paused and then went down. I held my breath and posed for the picture of Business Woman of the Year. Nice outfit. Respectable girl. When the shiver reached my bum, I mumbled "Click!" and did a firm, warm spurt in my red panties. Or better, in my whole outfit. Everything got initiated in one shot. A gasp escaped my lips as I felt my underwear getting wet up my brand-new skirt, and I had to struggle to stop. It was completely against all my instincts to stop, but I had to. I couldn't let loose here. Fortunately I managed to stop indeed, and felt the warm area still expanding further down my bum for a few seconds more. But apparently my panties had absorbed it all. Nothing ran down any leg, yet I could feel it very well. My breathing now was quite brisk and I felt a little perspiration on my fore head. God this was exciting. Imagine me doing this at work! I looked down at my skirt, but it did not show any sign of what had happened under it at all, yet there could not be more than a centimeter of margin. A wet bum could easily be hidden. Carefully I moved on to the next mirror, buttoning up my blazer, and then put my hands on my hips, still with my legs closed though. Another picture? No, Diana. Don't. Don't! I did it, looking at myself in profile. Again, a warm wave flooded my outfit, and again, it got absorbed by my wonderful panties. Towelling material had its advantages. There was the fitting room again. I entered and excitedly hiked up my skirt to inspect the damage. Just the usual stain in the crotch, with a nice dispersion at the back side. I slid my finger between my legs and played with myself, carefully stroking my wet, soppy panties. It made me wild, but I couldn't go all the way here, because I feared losing control and wetting all over the place and myself. After a minute of cooling down, I pulled down my skirt, brushed my hair over my shoulders and confidently strolled to the counter, trying not to display a wet walk. I put the blazer away. Maybe next month. The pantyhose woman just left, and Cindy turned to me, scanning me from top to toe. "Looks great, Diana. Those boots really are flattering. You definitely do not need any pantyhose." I smiled. "And, do you need to wear a skirt for the next hour?" she asked, trying to X-ray my mini. I nodded: "You bet. It indeed was wonderful. I'll have to learn some more tricks, but that will be fun in itself. Do you never have a smell problem? Staying wet for hours must be noticeable." Cindy smiled, and took her purse. "I usually change panties every few hours, and use moist perfumed tissues to clean up. And for emergencies I have this." She produced a deodorant spray, spread her legs a bit, and shot a cloud of deodorant straight up her mini. "Ooh, it's cold!" she shrieked. I had to laugh so hard that I had to grab the counter to keep my balance. It also caused some more going on up my skirt, but that was between me and my panties. They lost. After I had paid for the clothes, I asked Cindy if she had had some more experiences of customers who got wet in the store. "Once in a while, yes. Some ladies apparently do not feel it coming up, or are too shy to ask for the bath room. A few times I found some stains in the carpet of a fitting room, and once a completely peed pair of trousers. The woman had already left, but at least she had hung back the trousers apart from the rest. Imagine what would have happened if another customer had tried them on!" During her story, Cindy had rounded the counter and inspected my clothes. Or better, inspected me. I could almost feel her eyes roving my face, hair, chest, hips, legs. She carefully arranged my hair, partly over my shoulders and partly over my chest, and in the process lightly stroke my breasts. I instinctively withdrew and stiffened. Cindy hesitated, then turned away and began to sob. "I'm so sorry Diana. But you are so beautiful and sexy, I just could not control myself. It won't happen again. Promised. Oh, I am such a fool. Now I've blown everything." And then she put her hands against her face and started to cry. Everything now came together. Why she was always dressed a bit over the top, yet did not have a slew of boyfriends. Her enthusiasm in the cheerleader squad. Her interest in most things related to girls and far less in boys. Even her job in the woman's boutique. Poor girl. This asked for immediate and radical measures. Quickly I took her in my arms, while she continued to weep on my shoulder. "Come on Cindy. Nothing happened. I just did not know. I am as sorry as you are. There's nothing to worry about. You're different, yes, but that won't change anything." She still sobbed, but it now dwindled. "Honest? You are not going to expel me from the squad? Because with the other girls around, they might think that..." "Forget it. Besides, they would understand. We're not dogmatic about things like this. Being member of the squad is probably the best thing that could happen to you, anyway. Dressing up nicely and having others around dressed up the same way, wonderful! I sometimes secretly wanted to include sharp boys in the team, to peek at. Well, you sort of have them! I envy you!" Cindy's face now was shining like the sun in July after a heavy shower, and she gave me a kiss on my cheek. "Oh, thank you Diana! You're so kind! You know how incredibly important the squad is to me. I'll do everything to stay with it." "No problem, Cindy. Even better, now I know you run a shop, I want you to help me with the uniforms for the next season. They should be more innocent and yet more daring than this year's. You are the best person for the job, all-in. Your experience and your, well, special attitude towards female clothes should prove very effective." She was so delighted with my proposal that she sped back into the shop and got the blazer out. "Here. A gift. I'll pay. You just need it." Surprised, I let her put the blazer around my shoulders and put it on. "Gee, thanks Cindy. Really. It is not necessary, you know." "Forget it. I'm much too happy. Can't wait for the catalogues to come in. I might even get some details customised for a discount. Like lining." I greeted Cindy, and with my clearly wet panties up my short skirt and my little breasts poking through the fabric of my jumper, pushing the blazer a bit aside, I went out of the shop, into the sun. Nice day for business as usual, I smiled to myself. My boots clicked on the pavement. On my way home, I indeed got three whistles, most from boys in their mid-teens. Apparently I did not *look* twenty-nine. I could convince myself not to try any more spurts, and carefully avoided any lawn I knew to prevent some more extensive experiments. But the feeling of being wet in full public and almost showing it was unforgettable. My excitement rose with every minute as I started to wonder what my boyfriend would think. Actually, I knew pretty well what he would think. Which proved quite correct. - o - o - o - o -
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Fashion Facade
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