The Stranger Who Seduced Me in the Fitting Rooms

That Saturday afternoon my mind was somewhere else. I had dinner plans with a friend, I still hadn’t bought the gift, and I was carrying a dull irritation I couldn’t quite place. One of those afternoons when your body wants something your head doesn’t want to name. I’d gone two weeks without fucking, and my panties felt heavy as if they knew something I was still denying.

I went into the mall without hurry, with only the vague intention of finding something pretty in the perfume section. But the corridors have their own logic, and before I knew it I was standing in front of a row of mannequins dressed in black lace.

Lingerie.

I stood there staring as if I’d stopped on my own, without having decided to. The department was almost empty at that hour. Two young saleswomen were chatting at the counter, not paying attention to me, and farther back, among the bra and thong displays, a woman was moving around.

She was brunette, with her hair gathered into a messy bun that left her neck bare. She wore a summer dress that clung exactly where it should, outlining her tits and ass in a way that felt almost obscene in broad daylight. She pulled clothes from the hangers with the concentration of someone who knows exactly what she’s looking for. I watched her for a few seconds longer than necessary, imagining those breasts without the fabric over them.

This is ridiculous, I thought. And I forced myself to walk toward the perfumes.

But when I turned the corner I saw her again. This time she was standing in front of a full-length mirror, holding a black evening dress against her silhouette and studying her own reflection with a slightly furrowed brow. She had that way of looking at herself that isn’t vanity but assessment, as if she were making an important decision.

I stopped. I couldn’t help it.

Then she raised her eyes and found me in the mirror.

I didn’t look away right away. Neither did she. There was a second, maybe two, when we both understood. Then she smiled, just with one corner of her mouth, and went on looking at herself.

—What do you think? —she asked without turning, speaking to me through the glass.

It took me a moment to understand she was asking about the dress.

—It’s gorgeous —I answered, as neutrally as I could manage.

—Right? —She finally turned to face me. She had dark eyes and a mouth that looked designed to say things one doesn’t expect—But I’m not sure how it looks from behind. Would you help me try it on?

It was a simple request. Ordinary. There was nothing special about it.

And yet I felt something shift just beneath my sternum, and lower down, a warm pulse between my legs that was no longer pretending innocence.

—Of course —I said.

***

The cubicle was one of the largest, at the end of the row, with a door that reached the floor. She went in first and I followed. The mirror covered the entire back wall, and the warm light bathed everything in the way expensive fitting rooms do: no harsh shadows, no cruel angles.

She took off the summer dress without a trace of modesty. Underneath she wore a burgundy lace set, bra and thong, which contrasted with her brown skin. The thong disappeared between her ass cheeks, leaving two firm half-moons visible at a glance. She handed me the evening dress without saying a word and stood in front of the mirror while I unfolded it.

I slipped it over her head and stood behind her to close the zipper. My fingers brushed her back and I felt how warm her skin was. I pulled the zipper up slowly, centimeter by centimeter. There was no reason to do it that slowly, but neither of us said anything about it.

—How does it fit? —she asked when I finished.

—Very well —I answered. And it was true. The dress cinched at her waist and fell straight to the knee, clinging to her hips with that exactness that makes a garment seem made for a specific body.

She turned to see herself in profile, then from behind. I was still behind her in the mirror, my hands still raised at the level of her neck, not having lowered them all the way.

—I feel something here —she said, taking my left hand and placing it on a fold at the waist—. Do you feel it too?

My fingers felt the fabric. Yes, there was a slight wrinkle. But that no longer mattered.

We looked at each other in the mirror. Her back against my chest. My open hand on her waist. The silence of the cubicle, so different from the dull roar of the mall beyond the door.

—What’s your name? —she asked softly.

—Elena —I lied.

She smiled.

—Nadia.

And then she turned all the way around.

***

When our mouths met, there was no ceremony, no in-between steps. Just her lips against mine, her hand at the back of my neck, and the taste of something sweet I couldn’t identify. We kissed for a while I couldn’t measure. Slowly at first, then with more urgency. Her tongue went all the way into my mouth, seeking mine, sucking on it as if it were an advance preview of what she was going to do lower down. I bit her lower lip and she let out a short moan, barely a gasp, which raised the hair on my arms.

She unbuttoned my blouse with a skill that made me think it wasn’t the first time she’d done it in a place like that. She slid my bra straps down and unclasped it from behind in one motion, without searching for the closure. She let it fall to the floor beside the blouse.

She tilted her head and took my right nipple between her lips. She bit it just a little, carefully, and then sucked hard, drawing it between her teeth until it hardened like stone. She moved to the left one and worked it longer, her tongue circling the areola, pulling, biting. I leaned my head against the mirror wall and closed my eyes. My pussy was already soaked, the fabric of my panties stuck to my lips like a second skin.

—You’ve got lovely tits —she murmured against my skin, her voice husky—. I’m going to suck them until they hurt.

I unfastened her dress down the back, the very zipper I’d pulled up so carefully minutes before. Now I yanked it down. The dress fell to her feet with a whisper of fabric. She stood before me in the burgundy lace set, half the bun loose in her hair, looking at me with that calm people have when they know exactly what they want.

I took her bra off. She had generous breasts, round, with dark, erect nipples pointing at me as if they were asking for my mouth. I took one in each hand, squeezed them, felt their hot weight in my palms. I dragged my tongue over one and felt her hold her breath. I took it all the way into my mouth, as much as I could, and she held my head against her chest, pushing.

—Yes, like that, suck me —she whispered.

Her hand slid to my skirt and began to push it up my thighs, very slowly, with the calculated pause of someone who wants the other person to ask for it.

I didn’t ask. I just spread my legs a little wider.

Her fingers reached my panties and felt the wet fabric. She looked straight into my eyes when she did it, without breaking eye contact, measuring my reaction. She slid two fingers over the soaked cotton, pressing right over my clit, and my whole body jerked.

—You’ve been like this for a while —she said—. You’re dripping, Elena. I could tell from the moment I saw you in the aisle.

I didn’t answer. No need. Her finger slid under the fabric and used two fingertips to part my lips, finding my swollen, slick clit. She rubbed it in slow circles while she watched my face, enjoying every grimace I made.

She pulled them down over my ankles and left them on the floor with the rest. Then she knelt.

***

What she did with her mouth can’t be described in a way that does it justice. She started slowly, with her tongue flat, licking me from bottom to top in one long stroke that curled my toes inside my shoes. She gathered all my wetness and licked her lips before burying her face again between my thighs. Now she used the tip of her tongue, tracing the letters of some secret alphabet over my clit, learning the map.

Then she found the exact rhythm, that point only someone who listens carefully can find. She pressed and eased off, sucked my whole clit into her mouth, let it go suddenly and licked it again broad and flat. She changed the angle, alternated the pressure. It wasn’t mechanical or memorized. It was someone paying attention.

I bit the back of my hand so I wouldn’t make noise. My heels were braced on her shoulders and my back was against the cold mirror, which contrasted with the heat rising from my waist upward. Outside, on the other side of the door, the world kept moving: someone was asking for their size, the saleswomen were answering, some bland song was playing over the ceiling speakers.

None of that existed. Only her mouth eating my cunt and her hands spreading my thighs for better access.

She slid two fingers in carefully, without stopping her mouth. They went all the way in on the first push, I was so wet. She curved them inward looking for a precise angle and found it immediately, pressing that spongy spot that made me let out a moan too loud. I covered my mouth with both hands.

—Shhh —she said against my cunt, and the vibration of the word went through me whole.

She kept fucking me with her fingers, in and out with a wet, dirty sound that filled the cubicle, while her tongue never let up on my clit. I started pressing on her shoulders without realizing it, pulling her toward me, smashing her face against my sex, almost riding her.

When I came, it was in a short, tense wave that folded me forward. I came on her tongue, squeezing my thighs around her head, my cunt throbbing against her fingers still buried inside me. I clutched her shoulders with both hands and stayed still for several seconds, trying to keep my legs from failing completely, feeling how she kept licking me slowly, collecting everything she’d made me spill.

She stood up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked at me with something that wasn’t triumph or arrogance. It was simply satisfaction. Her chin was shining with me, and she made no effort to hide it.

—Good? —she asked.

—Very good —I answered, still breathless.

And I gently pushed her toward the cubicle’s small padded seat.

***

She was still wearing the thong when I sat her down. I pulled it down myself, slowly, without the same urgency she’d shown. I wanted to take my time with it. The fabric came off stuck, with a bright strand hanging between the lace and her cunt, proof of how much eating me had turned her on.

I spread her thighs with my hands and knelt in front of her on the fitting room floor. I looked at her before doing anything. She had dark, short hair, wet, swollen skin, lips parted like a fruit split in half, everything shining and pink inside. I leaned in and started on the inner thigh, moving upward centimeter by centimeter, letting anticipation do its work. I bit the soft skin near her groin and she gave a small jolt.

When I finally got where I was supposed to, her fingers were already tangled in my hair. I ran my tongue all the way from bottom to top, very slowly, tasting her. She tasted salty and clean, more intense than I expected. I did it again, even slower, finishing with a deep kiss over the clit that drew a gasp from her.

—Fuck —she whispered—. Keep going like that.

I opened her lips with two fingers and worked her clit with the tip of my tongue, circling, moving up and down, until I felt it swell even more. Then I took it into my mouth and sucked it like a tiny nipple, pulling with my lips, letting it slip between my teeth.

She moaned very quietly, chin lifted and eyes closed, biting her lip. Every time I sped up, her fingers tightened in my hair, yanking my scalp; every time I eased off, her hands relaxed. I followed her signals without her having to say anything out loud.

I slid two fingers inside her and felt her close around them, tight and hot. I started fucking her slowly with my fingers while I kept sucking her clit, and she began moving her hips in rhythm, pushing my face against her sex.

—Deeper —she said—. Put them in deeper.

I added a third finger and she let out a moan she swallowed halfway by biting the sleeve of her dress. I was fucking her hard now, my wrist levering, while my tongue never let her clit go for a second. The sound of my fingers entering and leaving her soaked cunt was obscene, so loud I feared it could be heard outside.

At some point she told me:

—Wait.

She stood up and looked for something in her bag. She took out a small bottle of lubricant and a medium-sized silicone dildo, black, with a slightly curved tip. She put it in my hand, turned to the wall and placed her left foot on the seat, resting her forearms against the mirror. She offered herself like that, ass toward me, cunt spread between her thighs and her dark hole a little higher up.

I understood what she wanted.

I applied the lubricant carefully, patiently, letting it slide over the crack of her ass. With the pad of my thumb I rubbed her anus, barely pressing, tracing circles around the closed muscle. She drew in a deep breath when she felt the first contact, the muscles tense in that way that shows concentration before they relax. Then I coated the dildo and offered it to her pussy first, so she could get used to the shape.

It went in well, sliding all the way in with a single thrust because she was drenched. I gave her two, three strokes to lubricate it well and to hear her moan against the mirror. Then I pulled it out, added more lubricant, and set it against her anus.

—Slowly —she murmured—. But put it in.

I pushed just a little, feeling the resistance, and she pushed her ass back to help me. The tip went in and I heard her let out her breath sharply. I stayed still, waiting. I went very slowly at first, letting her body set the pace, gaining a centimeter every few seconds, watching the dildo disappear inside her. When she started moving her hips toward me, I increased the pressure and the rhythm.

—There —she said through clenched teeth—. Right there, don’t move.

I kept it steady for what seemed like several minutes, one hand braced on her hip to hold her, driving her at that precise angle while with the fingers of my other hand I started rubbing her clit to the same rhythm. She shuddered all over and pressed her forehead against the mirror.

—Yes, yes, like that, don’t stop —she whispered, and the words mixed with her breathing.

Her breathing grew more erratic, shallower. I was fucking her ass with the toy and working her clit with two fingers, feeling her tighten more and more around the silicone. When she came, she did it in almost complete silence, lips pressed together and knuckles white against the mirror, eyes squeezed shut, and her cunt throbbing against my fingers in waves so strong I saw her bend at the waist. I felt hot liquid running down my hand.

Afterward she stayed braced against the wall for a few seconds, forehead on her forearms, breathing slowly as she recovered. I pulled the dildo out carefully and set it on a tissue from her bag.

—God —she finally said, in a whisper.

I said nothing. I only ran my hand down her back, along the curve of her spine still shining with sweat.

***

We dressed without hurry, picking up the clothes from the floor as if it were something we did together every Saturday. There was something strangely comfortable about that, about the intimacy that exists between two people who owe each other nothing and have no shared history. Without the weight of expectations or the burden of what comes after.

I pulled myself together in front of the mirror. She put the summer dress back on and hung the evening dress on the rack with the same natural ease she had for everything.

—Are you buying it? —I asked, pointing at the black dress.

She smiled faintly.

—That was the pretext, not the intention.

We checked the space under the door to make sure no feet were waiting outside. We left the cubicle a minute apart, as we’d agreed without needing to speak. The two saleswomen were still at the counter. The song on the speakers had changed. Nobody looked at us.

She caught up with me by the escalator and handed me a folded piece of paper, torn from a sticky note in her bag.

—Just in case —she said.

I tucked it into my bag without opening it.

—Just in case —I repeated.

And each of us went down our own side.

***

I wrote to her three days later, after deciding twice that I wouldn’t. We met that same week in a downtown hotel, and what had happened in the fitting room turned out to be only a very brief introduction to everything she knew how to do.

We kept seeing each other for months. I never asked whether her name was really Nadia. I don’t think she believed mine either. Some encounters work precisely because they need nothing more than what they are: two strangers who recognized each other in a mirror and had the good sense not to ignore it.