The thoughts of what I was about to do had my pussy so drenched that I was struggling against the powerful urge to finger my fiery cunt right in public. A slutty, see-through dress, of a medium gray, gossamer fabric with glimmering, sparkling silver threads woven throughout, was one of my choices. As it hung on the hanger, displayed for potential buyers to admire, I could see completely through both layers of fabric. Thigh-high boots of imitation leather with high, silver-capped, spiked heels and the sluttiest teddy I could ever imagine finished off my choices.

It didn’t help matters that I was very aware that the punkish woman, all ink, piercings, and multicolored hair, was eyeing me with lusty hunger. She and I were the only ones in the adult store. I noticed her eyes riveted to my bouncing, braless boobs, my nipples jutting out through the thin fabric of my cropped t-shirt, when I entered. She was either unaware that her horny expression betrayed her attraction, or she didn’t care. Her eyes were darkened with black shadow and mascara, charcoal rouge coloring her cheeks, and her full, lush lips matched the somber tones. Her hair was colored a dark, emerald green, with blood-red streaks balanced out with whites, some bluish tinges, and purple ends.

She adorned her impish, sensual body in a black Misfits T-shirt; the hem was ragged, matching the holes she’d cut and torn, and the collar had been ripped off, enlarging the neck hole to the point of the shirt hanging off of one shoulder. Bold and overt, her red bra strap proudly contrasted with the smooth, pale flesh her shirt exposed. A lace miniskirt, more of a micro-tutu, as it was roughly the length of a broad belt, made a feeble stab at modesty. Rather than cover her shapely butt, covered in black- and green-striped leggings, it drew attention to the fact that the clingy fabric of her tights enhanced her seductive ass and toned legs.

“Zee,” according to her employee badge, didn’t hide the fact that she was drooling over my body. Her pierced tongue shot out to moisten her lips when she stared at my pert C-cups, and her eyes wandered all over my back and ass as she followed me around the store. Her deep brown eyes lingered on my skirt, and I could all but hear her dirty, primal thoughts. It was evident that Zee was into women, this woman in particular. That just made what I was about to do all the hotter.

I’m used to being ogled and leered at. When I’m horny or among friends—or even horny among friends—I bask in the attention. When I’m not, it’s a major annoyance. I wasn’t merely horny; the fiery inferno of my insatiable lust had reached new heights. But, being a creature of passion and adventure, I felt an overwhelming urge to do something naughty. I’d done this before, many times over, but it had been a long while.

“The fitting room is over there.” Zee gestured with a skull-ring-adorned hand, her black nails pointing the way. “If you need anything, just shout.”

Tiny and spartan, the five-by-eight-foot fitting room had wall-to-wall mirrors and a heavy, black velvet curtain in lieu of an actual door. Even the corners had mirrored inserts; no matter where I looked, I was assailed with reflected images of me and my body, compound reflections echoing into infinity. My cropped shirt, the hem ending at about my navel, was stripped off and hung on the nearby hook. My patchwork gypsy skirt soon followed. Standing nude in the minuscule room, I had plenty of time to appraise my carnal flesh.

While we’re never satisfied with our own bodies, I had no legitimate complaints. At just weeks away from turning forty-one, I don’t look my age. I more closely resemble the young, fresh-bodied college coeds who pour into my store looking for discounted textbooks. Although I’m biased, the myriad bitches in the mirrors showed no sag, no wrinkles, and not a single part that had succumbed to the rigors of time or gravity.

Standing up straight and shoving my shoulders back hiked my breasts up. They hung high, round, and firm, and the thinness of my torso made them seem to spill over my sides, ever so slightly. Holding that posture, my crinkly nipples thrust upward. From the waist up, I resembled a toothpick with some pink-tipped grapefruits glued on.

My saturated pussy, some red fuzz regrowing in a delicately-shaped, rectangular strip, looked youthful. Being in a constant state of high arousal is great for nether-region hydration. When I bent over, smiling at myself, I could readily see why my ass has caused both wet dreams and traffic accidents.

While not a thing of legend, I do have a nice, sexy ass. My hips are full and round, tapering quickly into gangling legs. Plump, taut, rounded, and having that inverted heart shape, all the hiking, exercise, and yoga have shaped my rump into masturbation material.

Delaying my gratification, or perhaps enhancing it, I let the punk music, loudly playing throughout the store, possess me. My hips swayed to the beat, my hands caressed in time with the rhythm, and my long, red hair, worn straight that day, cascaded to and fro with the shimmying of my head. Forgetting where I was, I clapped on the downbeat.

“Everything okay in there,” Zee called out.

Without thinking, I ripped open the curtain, knowing but not caring—hoping, actually—that it would expose my nudity to her. I stuck out my smiling head, my boobs making a guest-starring appearance as well.

“Sorry. Just grooving to your music. Who is that?”

“Lords of Acid. I like the sexuality and beat.” I knew who it was, I just felt like showing her my tits. Her dark eyes gleamed with arousal, but she suddenly tore her gaze from my breasts and got seriously involved with staring at her phone.

Smirking, I swished the curtain closed, ignoring the fact that my vigorous motion caused the far end to slide, creating a serendipitous gap. I stepped out of my sandals, noting that it had only been two days and the nail polish on my toes was already in a distressed state of mutilation. Zee liked what she saw; I was certain. Even if she didn’t, I was in a naughty mood, so I decided that she liked it, because it made my overheating cunt hotter and wetter.

First, I tried on the dress; it was part of my plan. The only thing I didn’t like about it was the price tag. The translucent fabric molded itself to my youthful curves, enhancing my nudity and adding gray shadows in all the right places, highlighting the darkness of my nipples, the swells of my breasts, and my pubic mound. The back was scandalously low, baring so much flesh, and cut so deeply that the dimples of my ass, and some of the tops of my cheeks, were exposed.

I leaned against a mirrored wall, one foot propping itself up on the bench seat. No matter where I looked, I saw this vision of me dressed up like a horny, slutty vixen. The dress served only one purpose, enticing onlookers to fuck the wearer. With my leg propped up, the long, high slit fell away from my outstretched thigh, exposing the bottom curve of my butt from one angle, and a peek of my sodden, dripping pussy at another.

While not prone to flights of narcissism, I did like the way I looked in that dress. My breasts were presented as suckable tits, only there for pleasure. My ass, featured in a cascade of images reflecting off one another, looked edible and spankable. From my angle, I could partially see Zee through the gap in the curtain. She was doing a good job of pretending to be working while she was gazing at my dressing room as if she were trying to be a voyeur, seeking a glimpse of my flesh.

One hand reached under the slit of the sheer dress, and my eyes dazzled a bit as the silvery threads bounced the overhead light into my eyes. My clit was already swollen, sensitive, and hot to my touch. I grazed a fingernail over the nub, purring audibly. Through the opening of the privacy curtain, I could see the punk woman’s eyes peering toward me.

This was just another one of my exhibitionist kinks.  I’d written about it in my fictional stories, had done it multiple times before, and had even inspired a few friends to do it.  There’s just something about masturbating in a dressing room that I find so dirty, kinky, and hot. The thrill of the taboo combined with pussy-drenching danger of being caught, and the fact that I’m finger-fucking my aching hole while wearing clothing I don’t own, adds to my aroused excitement.

I imagined Zee stealthily creeping up to the doorway and pressing her dark brown eye near the opening, her fingers emulating my activities as she watched. Soon, I was moaning softly, my soaked hand furiously fucking my hole, then rubbing my clit so fast that my fingers were a blur. My other hand traveled over the contours of my body, feeling the slick, see-through fabric pressed against my volcanic flesh. Thankful that she had the music blaring, I moaned loudly, feeling an orgasm build from the fires in my core and ricocheting off of every nerve fiber in my body.

The song stopped playing right when an intense orgasm decided to attack my quivering, horny soul. I had to bite my lip, my chest heaving, my thighs losing all strength, and my stomach undulating in spasms of intense pleasure, to keep from screaming. Still, my impassioned moans and whimpering sighs rang out as another song began.

I nearly lost control, and I shrieked in surprised shock when a firm knock echoed from the outer wall of the fitting room. She’d approached—when she had, I had no idea. Knowing that my pale, freckled skin was flushed with arousal, I slid the curtain open, dying a little inside when I noted that my fingers and hand were coated with my sexual nectar and some tendrils of my liquid sex were dripping from them.

“Just checking on you. That fits you perfectly.”

Her face was more red than mine. It made me wonder if she knew. The thought sent fiery heat racing through my veins. I mentally willed her to see my sexual honey glistening on my fingers.  She saw but pretended to not notice. However, a sly, sexy hint of a smile crossed her obsidian lips.

“I’ll definitely take this one.” I knowingly smiled back. “Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll let you know about these others.”

“Take all the time you want.”

She looked me up and down, leering seductively, then closed the curtain in two fluid motions. The first one closed it perfectly, concealing me from any view, but her second jerking motion pulled one side open a scandalous distance. I could have closed the newly-formed gap, but, noting that she had a direct view from her perch behind the counter, I merely giggled with horny lust and decided to accommodate her potential voyeurism.

I stripped out of the slutty dress and pondered the green piece of lingerie. A sort of teddy affair, it was constructed of artistically-cut swatches of lace, with lines and sections of stretchy, net-like strings attaching them into a slutty piece of fuck-me-hard lingerie. The shoulder straps were strings, the hem, ending about midway down my ass, were matching fringe, and the overall effect of wearing it was to transform me into a slutty whore. The lingerie enhanced my body’s natural form and wrapped it in slutty, fuck meat webbing.

The question, “What would a slutty whore do if she saw herself dressed like that?” could only be answered in deeds, not words. My bare ass broke out in goosebumps as the cold surface of the bench cooled it. My thighs spread wide, giving me an excellent mirror show, and I just stared at myself, imagining hordes of onlookers watching me make myself cum.

On hand plunged into my needy hole, fucking myself as hard as I could muster. Even over the loud music, I could hear the squishing and slopping sounds of my liquid sex. My best friend, my throbbing clit, also got her fair share of attention. I tried to edge myself, but that lasted all of thirty seconds. The idea of masturbating in public, wearing clothes I don’t own, while being ogled by a sexy, voyeuristic, punk-rock chick, made me explode almost instantly.

I wanted her to know that I was fingering myself, mere feet from her.  I needed her to fling the curtain open, kneel before me, and flick her metal-pierced tongue over my clit.  I fantasized about her tongue up my velvety hole, her fingers invading my unfilled ass as I drowned her with my liquid sex.

As soon as I could control my legs, I pulled on the boots. The imitation leather was soft and satiny. Runched near the tops, they looked incredibly sexy and made me wish I had a whip with me for the full effect. They even made my too-thin legs look sexy. I attempted a few, small steps, clumsy on the stiletto heels.

Unable to resist, I grabbed the edge of the bench and bent over, arching my back to stick my sexy ass out and up. I stayed like that, running a hand up my inner thighs, caressing the warm-feeling boot tops, then my thighs, and, eventually, brutally fucking myself as I watched the rearview image of my masturbation in the mirrors surrounding me.

Thinking that I heard something—a barely stifled impassioned moan—I chanced looking through the opening of the curtain. Zee was staring off into space, pointedly looking away from me, but she was gnawing on her lip and her arms seemed to be in motion under the concealment of the checkout counter. I couldn’t be certain, but my mind, consumed by my own lechery, knew that she was fingering herself over me.  I imagined her long, black nails tenting the stretchy fabric of her tights, her hand shoved under the waistband as she violently fingered herself.

“I need your opinion,” I said as I flung the velvet to one side.

Zee’s reaction was priceless. Her jaw dropped, her eyes bulged out, and her chest pulsed with her ragged breathing as she gawked at me dressed up like a slutty tramp in dominatrix boots. She tried to speak but only stammered some nonsensical, primitive sounds.

“Do these boots look good on me? I kind of like them, especially how the heels make my butt stick out,” I turned around, showing her my ass, “but I can barely walk in them.”

A self-fulfilling prophecy, I stumbled, teetering in the heels as my ankles sought to buckle outwards in random directions.

“Wow,” was all she said. Her face, however, communicated volumes. “Are you a model or a dancer? You look so sexy.”

“Thank you so much. I guess I won’t take the boots. I’ll topple and kill myself or something.” With that, I returned to the dressing room.

Inside, I donned my clothing, back into my Bohemian skirt and T-shirt, and then exited. The clerk’s nipples were as hard as my own, and her face was crimson. It also appeared that she was having difficulty catching her breath. To me, she had that naughty, post-orgasmic look.  It warmed both my heart and my loins.

“I’ll take these two, but not the boots.”

I paid and exited; the sexual tension was palpable. Perhaps it was just me and wishful thinking, but I chose to see it that way. I did, however, feel the heat of her penetrative stare on my ass as I left.

The first thing I did when I got to my car was to text my husband. “I picked up something fun to wear, tonight. I hope you like it.”

Then I sped back to work. My lunch break was over.