Hidden Fantasies Behind the Fitting-Room Curtain

I've never liked shopping. People exhaust me, lines bore me, and it drives me crazy to try on five things only to leave with a single bag. Even so, that afternoon I went into a department store after lunch with Adrián, because we were leaving on a trip in a few days and I needed a couple of light dresses for the heat.

He came along with that patience of his that always disarms me, carrying my bag for a while, offering few opinions and looking at me a lot. That detail was already making me feel sensitive. It wasn't just affection: it was the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't noticing, as though he liked everything about me even when I felt ordinary.

I found two dresses that caught my eye and went into the fitting-room area while he waited for a saleswoman to ask for another size. I closed the curtain, hung up my coat, and left the hangers on the side bench. The fitting room was narrow, with a large full-length mirror and a gap underneath through which you could see people's feet coming and going.

I took off my sneakers, then my sweater, then my shirt. When I unbuttoned my trousers and lowered them down my legs, I was left wearing only the black thong and matching bra I'd put on that morning without thinking of anything special. Or so I'd told myself.

Then I heard his voice on the other side of the curtain.

—Vera?

I stuck only my head out, holding the fabric against my body.

—I'm here.

Adrián raised the other hanger as if he were carrying a trophy and slipped inside before anyone noticed. As soon as he closed the curtain behind him, his eyes went to the mirror and he stood still. I had my back to him, in my underwear, with my trousers on the bench and the white dress hanging to one side.

I saw his face change in the reflection. That stupid half-smile, his tense jaw, his breathing a little deeper. His eyes traveled over my legs, my ass half outlined by the thong, the curve of my back, my bare shoulders.

I turned around with a hanger in my hand.

—What's wrong?

—Nothing—he said, although his voice sounded deeper—. It's just that you're too damn hot for a place with mirrors.

I laughed, but felt heat rise through my chest. There were people less than a meter away, separated from us by a thin curtain, and yet the way he looked at me made me involuntarily squeeze my thighs together.

—Come on, expert, help me. If you've come all the way in here, you might as well be useful.

I put on the first dress. It was white, simple, made of lightweight fabric, with thin straps and a discreet neckline. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I immediately saw the problem: my bra and thong showed through a little beneath the fabric.

—How does it look on me?—I asked, turning slowly.

Adrián looked at me as if the question were torture.

—It looks good. Very good.

—That doesn't count. Everything looks good to you.

I moved closer to the mirror, lifted my hair a little, and twisted my body to check how the dress fell. He was still behind me, silent, looking at me so brazenly that there was no point pretending innocence anymore.

—You can see the bra—I murmured.

—Then take it off.

He said it almost jokingly, with a crooked smile. But as soon as our eyes met in the mirror, we both knew the joke wasn't entirely a joke anymore.

—Really?—I asked, lowering my voice.

—Yes.

I slipped my hands beneath the fabric and unclasped my bra with deliberately clumsy fingers. I pulled it out by one strap and left it on the bench. My nipples immediately showed through the thin material, hard and visible. It wasn't cold. He was the only reason.

—And now?—I asked.

Adrián let out a slow breath without taking his eyes off my breasts.

—Now the problem up top no longer exists.

—But there is still a problem down below, right?

The bulge in his trousers was already beginning to show before he even answered. A hot jolt went through me between the legs when I saw him get hard so quickly, so obviously, just from seeing me nearly naked in a fitting room.

—You can still see it down there—he said at last.

I smiled. I wasn't playing just to amuse him anymore; I was horny, genuinely horny. Very horny.

I hitched the dress up slightly and slid the thong down over my hips. The black fabric went down my thighs, over my knees and calves, until it lay tangled around my ankles. I kicked it aside. In the mirror I could see my body covered only by that translucent white fabric, with nothing underneath, my pussy and ass far too clearly suggested.

Adrián muttered a curse under his breath.

—Fuck...

I turned slightly toward him, enough to see the tension in his jaw and the erection now fully outlined.

—Looks like you like it.

—You have no idea how much.

He came closer. So close that his breath brushed my neck. Outside, footsteps, conversations, hangers clashing, a little girl laughing in the distance, and a saleswoman calling out sizes and colors could still be heard. All of it should have restored my prudence. Instead, it made me even more excited.

—There are people outside—he whispered, as if he needed to remind himself.

—I know.

I kissed the base of his neck and felt his body tense. My fingers moved down his chest and abdomen until they rested on the zipper of his trousers. The bulge was hard, heavy, impatient beneath the fabric. I stroked it with my palm, and he closed his eyes for a second.

—Don't touch me like that here or I'm going to lose my mind—he murmured.

—I think you've already lost it.

I squeezed him again through his trousers, slowly, enjoying the shape of his hard cock, the heat it gave off, the small movement of his hips seeking more pressure. He grabbed my ass over the dress and squeezed it hard, digging his fingers in. I moaned against his neck and had to bite my lip to keep from making more noise.

I knelt in front of him without taking my eyes off his face. The space was so narrow that my back almost brushed the fitting-room bench. At that height, his erection was right in front of me, pushing against the fabric of his boxers.

—Vera...—he said hoarsely, warning me and begging me at the same time.

I didn't answer. I undid his belt, then the button, then the zipper. I lowered his trousers and boxers just enough to free his cock. It sprang out hard and thick, its glans gleaming. My mouth watered at the sight of it, throbbing in front of my face while he braced one hand against the wall so he wouldn't collapse.

I gripped it in one hand and felt its weight and heat. I kissed the tip. Then another kiss along the side. I ran my tongue slowly down the shaft and back up, circling the glans with the tip, wet and insistent. He let out a sharp sigh and put a hand in my hair.

—Don't do that so slowly, fuck...

I smiled before licking him again. I liked having him like that, trembling from a simple game with my tongue. I liked knowing that, a few steps away, no one imagined I was on my knees swallowing his arousal as if the world ended behind that curtain.

I finally took him into my mouth, first just the head, savoring him. Then I went lower, wrapping my lips around him, sucking deliberately while my hand worked the part that wouldn't fit. His breathing immediately became uneven. I looked up and saw him with his mouth half open, monitoring the noise outside and my face at the same time.

—You're so good...—he said almost soundlessly.

I sucked him more hungrily. He slid in and out, wet and slippery, growing harder all the time. My tongue traced the underside and he gave a small thrust with his hips. It wasn't violent; it was instinct. Another thrust, just a little firmer. He held my hair and I opened my mouth wider, letting him go deeper.

The sensation made me even hotter. Him fucking my mouth in a fitting room, me in a translucent dress with no underwear, hearing footsteps on the other side. I lowered one hand between my legs and touched myself beneath the fabric. I was drenched. Not wet: truly drenched, my pussy hot and open, my clitoris sensitive and throbbing.

I began rubbing it while I kept sucking him. Every thrust of his cock filled my mouth with saliva. The wet sound was partly masked by the store's murmur, but I heard it perfectly. I felt it in my throat, in my tense cheeks, in my eyes watering when he grabbed me with both hands and made me lower a little farther.

—That's it... that's it...—he repeated, restraining himself so he wouldn't moan loudly.

I pulled his cock from my mouth for a moment to breathe. A strand of saliva hung from my lips to the tip of his shaft. He looked at me with a dirty, hungry expression, the kind that completely melted me.

—I want you inside me now—I whispered.

I stood up and we kissed desperately. He tasted of me and I tasted of him. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth while one hand squeezed a breast and the other held my hip. I slid the dress off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I was completely naked in front of the mirror.

Adrián spent a second taking me in, as if he wanted to burn the image into his memory: my legs slightly apart, my glistening pussy, my hard nipples, my gooseflesh. Then he lowered his hand and touched me between the legs with two fingers.

—You're dripping.

—Because of you.

He slipped one finger between my lips, then two. They entered without resistance because I was so wet I nearly came just from feeling them inside me. He moved them slowly at first, searching for the spot that made me arch my back. He found it immediately. I had to brace one hand against the mirror so I wouldn't buckle.

—Don't make a sound—he murmured in my ear, and the soft command made me even wetter.

He bit my neck while his fingers opened me and fucked me with short, wet, precise movements. I spread my legs wider, offering myself, feeling the heel of his hand brush my clitoris with every movement. My breathing was already a wreck.

—Adrián... put it in now.

He withdrew his fingers and made me taste my own wetness from his lips in a kiss. Then he turned me to face the mirror. I bent slightly forward, resting my hands on either side of the glass. He stood behind me, trousers halfway down his thighs, his hard cock brushing my buttocks.

We looked at each other in the reflection. That image was what finally broke me: me naked, open, flushed with arousal; him behind me, holding my waist, ready to fuck me while anyone could pass within inches.

He slid the tip of his cock between my lips, up and down, wetting it further with my own juices. The simple friction made my legs tremble.

—Look at yourself—he said—. Look at the state you're in.

I obeyed. I saw my pussy opening as he pushed the tip inside. He entered slowly at first, with a delicious pressure that drew a muffled moan from me. I covered my mouth with one hand, but I didn't take my eyes off the mirror. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see him opening me, filling me.

He kept going until he was all the way in. I felt every inch, every small tug, every pulse of his cock inside me. When he was completely buried, he rested his forehead on my shoulder and exhaled as if he, too, were on the verge of losing control.

—Fuck, you have such a delicious cunt.

That filthy phrase, said so simply, made me clench around him. He answered with a thrust of his hips and began to fuck me slowly. He withdrew almost all the way and plunged back in deep, wet and firm, making the dull slap of his pelvis against my ass audible.

We tried to keep quiet for a few seconds that seemed endless. I bit my hand. He breathed against my nape. But every thrust loosened my body further and sent more pleasure rising through my belly.

—Harder—I begged in a broken whisper.

—Like this?

He drove into me with a harder thrust. I nodded immediately.

—Yes. Like that. Fuck me like that.

That was enough. He gripped my hips tightly and began pounding me harder, without restraint. My ass took his blows, my tits bounced, and the mirror fogged with our breathing. The wet noise of penetration became impossible to ignore. It was an obscene, exciting sloshing sound that would have embarrassed me at any other time. There, it only made me wetter.

—You're taking all of me—he growled—. All of it, fuck.

I could barely answer. My head was clouded. Every time he buried himself in me, I felt one lash of pleasure in my pussy and another in my clitoris, which I rubbed with one hand while he fucked me. Seeing my own hand stroking me, seeing him behind me, sweaty and focused, losing control, pushed me even closer.

—Don't stop... don't stop...—I repeated.

He grabbed my hair and pulled gently backward, forcing me to lift my face. Our eyes met in the mirror while he continued driving his cock into me. It was too much. The obscenity of the scene, the location, the risk, his hand in my hair, the way he looked at me while fucking me as if I were the only thing in existence.

I began to come with a jolt that left my legs weak. My pussy clenched around his cock again and again, squeezing him violently. I had to close my eyes for a moment because the pleasure shot through my entire body, from my clitoris to my back. Even so, he didn't slow down.

—That's it, come—he told me—. Come on my cock.

My orgasm drove him wild. I felt him lose his measured rhythm and begin thrusting faster and harder, barely caring about the noise anymore. The bench struck the wall once. Someone passed outside and stopped for a second. We both went tense, but he didn't pull out of me. We waited without breathing. The footsteps continued past.

Then he fucked me with restrained fury, as if the scare had excited him even more. I was still sensitive from my orgasm, so every thrust tore new spasms from me. My pussy was so wet that his cock slid in and out with obscene ease, coated in my juices.

—I'm going to come—he said through clenched teeth—. Where do you want me?

The question went through me. I looked at his face in the mirror, then at the hand gripping my hip, then at the brutal movement of his cock disappearing inside me.

—Inside—I answered without thinking—. Come inside me.

Three more thrusts were all it took. He stayed buried to the hilt and came with a muffled groan against my neck. I felt him pulsing inside me, releasing hot waves that made me shudder again. My pussy contracted once more on reflex, squeezing him while he remained motionless, buried to the hilt, breathing as if he had just crossed a finish line.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, pressed together, sweaty, panting in silence. My forehead rested against the mirror and my legs were trembling. He kissed my shoulder and then the nape of my neck, gentler now, as if after breaking me apart with his cock he needed to take care of me again with his mouth.

When he pulled out of me, I immediately felt some of his cum slide down my thighs. I looked down and saw the white thread slowly running downward. The sight gave me a mixture of kink and satisfaction that made me bite my lip.

Adrián followed its path with his eyes and let out a low, incredulous laugh.

—Look at us.

—I'll never forget this—I said.

He turned me around and kissed me slowly, unhurriedly, with the strange tenderness that sometimes arrives after the filthiest sex. I was still naked and sticky, with traces of his semen running down my leg and my heart still racing, and yet I felt absurdly loved.

We cleaned ourselves as best we could with tissues and clumsy movements, stifling a few nervous laughs. I put my thong back on, although I was already too sensitive and could still feel the hot moisture trapped between my legs. Then the bra, the trousers, and the shirt. The white dress lay crumpled on the floor until I picked it up.

—I don't think I'll buy it—I said, looking at it.

—It would be strange to take the crime scene home with you.

I had to cover my mouth to keep from letting out a laugh that was too loud. Outside, everything continued as usual: the crowded store, the voices, the music, the clatter of hangers. No one knew that inside that cubicle we'd just fulfilled a fantasy neither of us had planned when we left home.

Before opening the curtain, Adrián pulled me close again and gave me one last kiss, brief but charged with the electricity that still shook us.

—If you go into a fitting room with me again, I won't be responsible for what happens.

—Neither will I—I told him.

We walked out wearing the best expression of normality we could manage. He had two dresses hanging from one finger. I walked slowly, still feeling the memory of his cock and a small, persistent dampness between my thighs. And although I tried to look calm, inside I was smiling like a woman whose entire body had just been thrown into disarray in the middle of a shopping center.

The fantasy wasn't the dress. The fantasy had been feeling watched, desired, and fucked where we shouldn't have been. And the worst part, or the best part, was knowing that after that afternoon it would be impossible to enter a fitting room again without remembering exactly what my breathing sounded like when he pushed it all the way inside me in front of the mirror.