The Saleswoman Closed the Fitting Room Curtain on Me

Hugo walked into the shopping center with his college backpack hanging from one shoulder and a mental list of errands pushing him to move fast. He was twenty-two, studied architecture in Valencia, and had spent two weeks putting off buying new jeans. That Friday afternoon he had decided to slip away from the last hour of projects and take care of it once and for all. He had no plan more ambitious than trying on three pairs and going home before dinner.

The fast-fashion store on the first floor was packed. Teenagers with bags of chips, couples arguing over which jacket to try on, electronic music turned up far too loud. Hugo walked straight to the men’s section and started rifling through the hangers. He had a pattern he liked: slim cut, mid-rise, dark wash. But all the sizes were jumbled and half the styles didn’t have his size.

—Looking for something in particular? —a voice asked behind him.

Hugo turned and lingered a second too long staring before he answered. The saleswoman had her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, black curls that seemed to have a life of their own. Three small hoops in each ear. The name tag on her uniform said Nadima. The store’s white T-shirt fit her in a way that could not have been by the book, outlining the large, firm breasts beneath it, and the black skirt ended right where you had to look and then look away.

—Jeans. Forty-two —he said, trying not to let his voice come out higher than usual.

Nadima tilted her head and looked him up and down without pretending not to, pausing an extra beat at his fly.

—Forty-two will be too big on you. Your waist is slimmer than you think. Come on, I’ll show you.

She took him by the elbow with an ease that didn’t match two strangers. Hugo let himself be led two aisles over, to a column of trousers he hadn’t noticed. It smelled like something sweet, vanilla with a dark note underneath. Not store perfume.

—Try these on —she said, pulling out one pair and then a second from another style—. And these too, just in case.

She nodded toward the fitting rooms in the back. Hugo stepped into the empty booth, closed the curtain, and changed in silence. The first pair fit right in that middle ground between comfortable and too tight. He came out barefoot into the central fitting-room aisle to look at himself in the big mirror.

Nadima was leaning against the wall, arms crossed beneath her chest, pushing it up even more.

—Turn around —she ordered.

Hugo obeyed, feeling a little ridiculous. Her head appeared in the mirror over his shoulder.

—They show everything —she said without blinking, her eyes fixed on the bulge beginning to form in his crotch—. Too much, almost. Are you sure those are the ones you want?

He swallowed. He could feel her behind him, too close, and suddenly he was aware of every centimeter of his body under the fabric. Too late, he realized he was getting hard, his cock growing against the seam of the jeans, and that she had noticed before he had.

—I’m going to try another size —Hugo muttered, cutting it off and slipping back into the booth.

He closed the curtain and started unbuttoning, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t the heat on the back of his neck. He had the pants half down when the curtain moved again and she came in without asking permission.

—Shhh —she said, putting a finger to her lips—. If we get caught, I swear they’ll pin the blame on you.

The fitting room was narrow. Two people inside was one person counted twice. Nadima closed the curtain with her left hand while with her right she finished pulling down his zipper. Hugo didn’t move. He didn’t complain either.

—You know how many of you we look at during the day? —she said, voice low, her mouth far too close to his ear—. A thousand guys come in here. One out of a hundred makes me think what I’m thinking right now.

—And what are you thinking? —Hugo asked, and hated himself a little for asking.

—That I want to know what your cock tastes like —she answered in his ear, biting his earlobe—. I’ve been imagining what it would feel like in my mouth ever since you walked in.

She smiled, a quick, almost predatory expression, and yanked down his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard, the tip already shining with a thick bead. Nadima stared at it, head slightly tilted, as if calibrating it. Then she grabbed it at the base with her right hand, squeezed, and gave it a slow shake a couple of times, sliding the foreskin up and down.

—Pretty —she said—. Thick, too. You don’t deserve it yet.

She knelt on the rough carpet. She ran her tongue flat from his balls to the head, very slowly, like someone licking an ice cream they have no intention of letting fall. Hugo clenched his teeth to keep from making a sound. When she reached the top, she closed her lips around the tip and sucked only the head, hollowing her cheeks, drawing out another bead that she swallowed without breaking eye contact from below.

—Fuck —he whispered.

—Shhh.

She opened her mouth again and took him all the way in, to the back, until he felt her throat swallow him down. She stayed there a moment, nose pressed into the hair at his pubic bone and throat closed around his cock, swallowing saliva around the flesh so he could feel the squeeze. Then she started moving. She wasn’t clumsy. She wasn’t rushed. She was someone who knew exactly how much pressure to give and how much to release. She rose to the tip, circled her tongue under the head, and went back down to the root with a wet slap. Saliva began to drip from her chin and run down over his balls.

—Fuck —Hugo repeated, clutching the metal clothes rail jutting from the wall with one hand.

—Quiet —she murmured between licks—. The curtain’s thin.

She took his balls in her free hand, weighed them, squeezed them gently while she kept sucking. With the other hand she stroked his perineum. Over the murmur of the shopping center you could hear footsteps in the fitting-room corridor. A mother scolding a child. A couple arguing in German. Every time the footsteps passed in front of their booth, Hugo froze, and Nadima laughed against his skin without taking him out of her mouth, making his cock vibrate with the muffled laugh. The music from the ceiling covered the rest.

She pulled his cock out for a moment, held it against her cheek, and spat on it before taking it back in. Now she sucked faster, deeper, both hands busy: one on his balls, the other jerking the base in time with her mouth. Hugo could feel how each downward stroke closed around his throat and how each upward one opened it with a low moan she let out on purpose, so he would feel it.

When she sensed he was close, he tried to pull away with a clumsy gesture.

—I’m going to…

—I know —she said, and took him even deeper.

Hugo came, biting his lower lip hard enough to hurt himself. He felt himself empty into her mouth in three successive spurts, and felt her swallow each one without moving her face, her throat working around the tip. Nadima held on to the end, sucked the last drop from him, and rose calmly to her feet. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, sucked the finger while looking him in the eyes, and opened her mouth to show him there was nothing left.

—Tasty —she said—. Take everything off.

—Here?

—Here.

He obeyed before he could think. The T-shirt. The socks. The jeans that would no longer be any use. When he was naked, she pulled her uniform shirt over her head in one clean motion, then the skirt. Underneath she was wearing a red lace bra and matching panties that didn’t look designed for a workday. She undid the clasp of the bra and her breasts fell heavy, the dark nipples already hard. She pinched one while looking at him.

—I put them on this morning for no reason —she said, reading his face—. Sometimes a woman gets ready without knowing why.

She pushed him onto the fitting-room floor. The carpet was cheap and rough, but Hugo had stopped caring long before then. Nadima sat astride his face, moved her panties aside, and made clear what she expected without needing long instructions. Her cunt was shaved, swollen, shining with how soaked she was. Hugo ran his hands up her thighs, opened his mouth, and followed her where she wanted him to go.

—Higher —she ordered—. Higher… there. On the clit. Suck it.

He closed his eyes and focused on the taste, the heat, the weight of her on his body. He licked her cunt all the way from bottom to top, lingered at the entrance, pushed his tongue in as far as he could, and climbed back up to that spot where she writhed without being able to help it. Nadima’s nails sank into his hair every time he hit the mark. Every time he drifted off, she tugged him a little to center him again. Hugo learned fast. He had never done anything like this with so little conversation.

—Your fingers —she panted—. Put them in me. Two.

Hugo lifted his right hand, found the entrance slick with moisture, and shoved his middle and ring fingers in to the hilt. She clenched around them at once, closing on his fingers like a hot fist. He started pumping slowly, curving them upward, looking for the rough spot where he could feel her trembling. His tongue never stopped working her clit for a second. Nadima moved on his face, grinding herself, fucking his mouth like it was another cock.

When she came, she pinned him with her thighs until he could barely hear. Her thighs closed over his ears, her pussy tightened around his fingers in successive waves, and she spilled down his chin and neck to his chest. She trembled almost silently, biting the back of her hand so she wouldn’t cry out. It took a full minute for her to separate from him and a little longer to open her eyes.

—Get up —she said after that, still breathless.

He got up. He was hard again without having thought about anything in particular, his cock erect and dripping anew. Nadima looked at him, nodded as if checking off a pending task, and turned around. She braced her hands on the low bench in the fitting room, arched her back, stuck out her ass, spread her legs, and turned her head over her shoulder.

—Slow at first —she warned—. If you make me scream, they’ll throw both of us out. And put it in all at once, don’t touch me with the tip, it makes me worse.

Hugo came up behind her and took her hip with both hands. Her skin was hot and her back tense. He ran the head of his cock along the lips of her cunt, up and down, soaking himself in her wetness, and pushed. He entered in one movement until his balls hit her clit. Nadima muffled a long moan against her own forearm. The entire fitting room seemed to shrink even more. He held still for a second, making sure neither of them would break, feeling how her cunt throbbed around his cock, then started moving.

He came out almost entirely and plunged back in with a hard thrust. Each stroke made her breasts sway beneath him and the wet sound of hips colliding slip out under the curtain. Their rhythm sped up on its own. Hugo clenched his teeth every time she pushed back against him, ass against pelvis, that smack of skin on skin neither of them could completely hide. The mirror at the back gave him his own face back, unrecognizable: mouth open, neck taut, eyes fixed on the place where his cock was sliding in and out of her, shining.

—By the hair —Nadima asked through her teeth—. Grab me by the hair and fuck me harder.

Hugo grabbed her ponytail and pulled back. She arched her neck and he took the opportunity to fuck her with more force, with short, deep thrusts, feeling how her cunt squeezed him with every downward stroke. He ran his free hand forward, between her legs, and rubbed her clit in circles while he kept driving into her.

—Like that, fuck, like that —she whispered—. Don’t stop.

Nadima reached one hand back and hooked it into his thigh to keep him from stopping. The other she brought to her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. Hugo felt her tighten around his cock again, a tremor beginning deep inside her and spreading through her whole body. He came into his own bitten hand and kept pushing, holding out as long as he could, until she caught her breath and turned her head again.

—Don’t pull out —she asked very quietly—. I took the pill. Stay inside. Fill me.

Hugo had never heard a sentence with such precision. He stayed inside. He gave her three more thrusts, each deeper than the last, and came with his forehead pressed against her back, sweat mixing between them, his thighs shaking, emptying in waves into the cunt that kept throbbing around him. He felt himself spilling, felt it running out over the edges and beginning to slide down her thighs. Nadima shivered again when she felt him inside, and for once she didn’t care about making a little noise. It was silenced by the two garments piled against the curtain.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, not separating, listening to their heartbeats over the music from the outside speaker. When Hugo finally pulled out, a thick thread of semen ran down the inside of her thigh. Nadima passed two fingers over it, brought them to her mouth without taking her eyes off his, and sucked them slowly. Then she straightened up, kissed his shoulder on the way past, and started dressing with professional speed.

—Give me two minutes before you leave —she said, adjusting her skirt—. If they see us together at the corridor entrance, I’ll be out of a job tomorrow.

—Will we see each other again? —Hugo asked, still half-dressed.

Nadima turned with a hand on the curtain. She looked at him for a while without answering. Hugo thought the answer was going to be no.

—Tomorrow’s Saturday, I’m off —she said at last—. If you want, I’ll send you the address. But this was the fast version. The slow version lasts all afternoon, and I can assure you I want to see how well you fuck when you don’t have to keep quiet.

She dictated a phone number he memorized on the spot, without daring to take out his phone. Then she left the cubicle, leaving only the trail of vanilla and a couple of red marks on his back.

***

Hugo finished getting dressed in his old jeans. The ones from the fitting room were wrinkled, stained, clearly useless. He left them on the bench, beside the clothes rail, as if nothing had happened there. He picked another pair of the same size from the stack outside, paid at the register without daring to look at the boy working the till, and walked out into the shopping-center corridor with the feeling that anyone could read on his face what had just happened.

In the parking lot he sat in the car for a long while without starting it. He had a pending message from his flatmate asking what time he was getting back. He didn’t answer. He took out his wallet and looked at the receipt: two pairs of jeans, size forty. Nadima had nailed it on the first try.

That night he slept little. He woke up twice convinced he had dreamed the whole thing, and twice the smell of vanilla was still in the wrinkled white T-shirt at the foot of the bed. The next day, Saturday morning, he dialed the number he had memorized in the fitting room. It rang three times before she answered in a voice rough with sleep.

—I knew you’d call today —Nadima said, and gave him the address without asking for anything else.