The Wedding Dress

"Do I not make myself clear, Dottie?" she asked. Again Margarita used that 'aristocratic' tone of voice.

"Well, at least she didn't use distinct syllables," I thought to myself. "At least she just spoke my name without that sort of demeaning tone." But I was still confused at her question.

"No ... ah, no. I mean no, I understand you. "Well, I thought ... I thought you said your name was ... ah ... Margarita," I answered somewhat exasperated at the time this was starting to take. "All I want to do is get my wedding ensemble and get out of here," I thought to myself.

"No, my dear Dottie," Margarita said, again looking me straight in the eyes, her voice changing once again to a condescending tone. "I said my name was 'Miss' Margarita. When someone introduces themselves to another person, it is very disrespectful not to address them as they introduced themselves."

"Oh my God, what did I get myself into," I thought to myself. "Why don't I just grab my wedding ensemble and get out of here." Yet ... I couldn't! "Why? Why did I feel so much like a child being scolded? Why did I feel so inferior in front of this woman? Was it her beauty? Was it the way she used her voice? Or ... was it a combination of everything about her?" My thought processes were working overtime. But I swallowed hard ... hard enough to hear myself make a gulping sound and loud enough for anyone close by to hear. I took my eyes away from her eyes. Like a child that had just been corrected, I couldn't look my lecturer in the face.

"I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to ... ah ... I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I really didn't mean it that way at all Mar ... Miss Margarita," I replied making certain to address her as she wished. As soon as I said the word 'Miss,' as soon as I used the prefix to her name as she wished, I felt a little bit of self esteem leave my inner being. It was replaced by a new feeling. A feeling of surrender, a feeling of yielding, a feeling of the transfer of power from myself to ... Miss Margarita!

Margarita smiled at my fumbling of words. She smiled at the awkwardness of my apology. "Never mind," Margarita said, "just remember the lesson you just learned. That's what is important, that you learn from your mistakes. Now then, follow me back to the dressing room and let's get started with your ... ah ... wedding ensemble."

As Margarita turned to walk away, I followed a few feet behind. I felt a little lightheaded as though it was hard to comprehend all that was taking place between us. My eyes seemed to be following her every step automatically. I looked at her perfectly formed back, down to her trim waist, then to her buttocks. The shape of her buttocks was clearly visible through the transparency of her short skirt. Her buttocks were not small; rather they seemed to be longer than any I had ever seen before, yet they were an exact match for her wider than usual hips. I could clearly see where the cheeks of her buttocks ended with a very little crease and then the muscular thighs took over and flowed down to those slightly muscular calves.

It seemed that each cheek of her buttocks moved in perfect cadence with each step she took. I followed the tapping of her high heeled shoes. Her feet were bare in the shoes except for ankle straps and the straps going across her insteps.

"No garter belt," I thought to myself. "Of course not stupid," I continued thinking, "her feet are bare. No need for a garter belt. What's there to hold up?"

We only walked about twenty feet when Margarita stopped. There was only a small partition separating the fabric rolls, materiel, and mannequins. There was also a small stool and a straight back chair by the wall.

"Was this the dressing room?" I thought to myself. "No other customers ... no other employees," it flashed through my mind for the first time since I came in the store. I felt myself begin to tremble a little bit with the first actual realization that we were alone ... and the front door was locked!

"Well, there it is," Margarita's voice interrupted my thought processes, "hanging on the wall. How do you like it?"

"Oh God, it's beautiful," I answered as I viewed my wedding ensemble for the first time. "I had no idea of what it would look like. Richard told me just to trust you. You were an expert," I continued. As I started to walk toward my wedding dress hanging on the wall I heard Margarita's voice again.

"Yes, Dottie dear," she said, "Richard gave you very good advice. I'm an expert in many things. All you have to do is trust me."

My attention was on my wedding ensemble but even then the words 'expert in many things' and 'trust me' for some reason still sent a little shiver through me. But Margarita didn't give me too much time to think about it.

"Well let's get out of those clothes and see what kind of a job I did," Margarita said.

I put my purse down, kicked off my shoes, walked over to my wedding ensemble and started to feel the material. "What color is it and what's it made of," I asked Margarita excited at the thought that I would soon be wearing this beautiful dress at my wedding. It seemed to be made of a sheer silky fabric and was almost pure white with just a hint of beige in it. It also had an embroidered 'birds of love' emblem sewed in a little lighter thread color than the rest of the dress so they were only visible if someone looked at them from a distance of about three feet. The 'birds of love' were, of course, kissing.

"Oh, it's made of a combination of fabrics imported from India and the color is hand dyed especially for you. Richard picked out the materiel and color," Margarita replied as she walked over to me.

I had only worn a blouse and slacks when I left the house. Of course, I did remember to wear high heels in case the outfit needed alterations in height. Margarita put her hands on my blouse and started to unbutton the first few buttons.

"Here, let me help you Dottie dear," Margarita said.

I started to back away from her. But she was so close to me ... so close that for the first time I caught the scent of the perfume she was wearing. I knew I recognized the scent ... but again my memory failed me. By the time I gave up trying to recall where I recognized that scent from, Margarita already had three buttons of my blouse undone. I started to raise my hands but Margarita stopped me with her hands.

"Don't worry," she said, "its part of my job ... ah ... part of my services. You do want me to do my job, don't you Dottie dear?"

"Well I ... I ...," again I was hesitating and fumbling for words partly from my feelings of apprehension at what I considered for a moment Margarita's unabashed casualness in unbuttoning my blouse. I just automatically stopped trying to answer altogether.

"You didn't answer me Dottie dear," Margarita said in a tone of voice that was soft and somewhat comforting, maybe even seductive. "You do know it's not polite not to answer a question when you are asked something don't you? It's not so hard to answer me. All you have to do is say 'yes' or 'no.' Lets try it all over again, all right Dottie dear?"

As Margarita was talking she had unbuttoned all the buttons on my blouse except the last one. A few times as she was talking to me she purposely let her hands brush again my breasts. The combination of the way she was talking in that very seductive tone of voice and the lightly brushing of my breasts was having an effect on me ... and I knew it!

"Why was I feeling this way," I started thinking to myself again questioning the unfamiliar emotions I was experiencing. "Why do I feel as though I have to do whatever she is telling me? Am I being ... no, it can't be ... but why am I giving in to her ... am I submissive? There ... there I said it ... submissive ...," again my mind was going at full speed like a fighter jet reaching for the speed of sound! 'Submissive' ... the word itself dug itself deep in my brain and made me feel psychologically uneasy.

"You do want me to do my job, don't you Dottie dear?" I heard Margarita's voice again. It was the same question I was just asked ... and failed to answer. This time I hung on to every word and watched Margarita's beautiful lips as they formed the words.

"Ah ... yes, yes Mar ... ah ... Miss Margarita," I answered in a meek tone of voice. For some reason I experienced a feeling of pride at remembering to answer in the manner Margarita had told me to, somehow knowing that she would approve. It was becoming important in my mind that Margarita approve of me.

"Yes, you want me to ...?" Margarita just left her voice trail off. She had asked another question. "It was a question, wasn't it," I heard my mind inquiring of myself. "Yes ... it was a question and yes, I had to answer!"

"Yes ... ah ... yes, I want you to do your job Miss Margarita."

"There, I answered," I thought to myself. And as I answered I felt as though my years were going backward in a tailspin. I felt somehow younger, somehow more innocent, and somehow diminished in stature.

"Good," Margarita said as she unbuttoned the last button on my blouse. It was only a second before my blouse was completely off and lying on the floor. I felt Margarita's fingers on the only large button on my slacks. My slacks were a fitted pair of slacks with a large button at the top and two little elastic strips on both sides of my waist. She unbuttoned the large button and then I felt her thumbs slip inside the elastic strips and slowly pull my slacks downward until they were at my ankles. She took one of my hands and following the direction her hand was insinuating I stepped out of my slacks.

I was standing there in my bra and panties. My hands were by my side. I felt very awkward even though I had been active in athletics all my life and had on many occasions been this way in front of other women. But this was different ... and I wasn't exactly sure why ... or did I?

"Pick up your wedding shoes and come over here," Margarita directed me and she pointed to the high heeled white shoes on the other side of the room.

I didn't answer. Rather I just started to go toward the shoes. I took two steps when I heard her voice again.

"Dottie ...," again the pause in her voice, "did you forget again already to acknowledge what I just told you?"

"God, what am I a dope or something? How could I be so forgetful," I thought to myself. I dug down deep within myself. "I should have remembered what she told me," I continued thinking.

"Ah no ... ah no, I didn't forget," I replied. But really I had forgotten ... and I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to admit it because I didn't want Margarita to be disappointed in me!

"Dottie ...," Margarita just left my name hang there. To me it felt like an hour although it was only a minute. Silence! You could hear a pin drop. I gulped again, nervously.

"I did something wrong," the thought flashed through my mind. I felt sorry for myself ... or was it shame for myself?

"Dottie, listen to me now," Margarita's voice came at me again. This time the tone of her voice was much lower, almost as though she felt sorry for me. Again, for some reason I felt as though she was doing this for my own good and I felt exasperated at myself in reaction to her voice.

"Dottie, it isn't that hard to remember. When someone asks you a question or gives you some direction it doesn't require a genius to acknowledge it with a 'yes' or 'no.' Now then, pick up your wedding shoes and come over here," Margarita said but with a tone of voice that was much more authoritative.

"Yes Miss Margarita," I answered ... this time without any hesitation.

"Good," Margarita answered.

'Good' ... just a simple word 'good', but it meant everything in the world to me at the moment. It was a reward! It was as though I had just run a ten mile marathon and came in first ... and Margarita was there to say 'good!'

I picked up my white/beige shoes and walked over to Margarita who had pulled the straight backed chair and the stool across the dressing room. I was trembling a little and nervously biting my lower lip off and on. For the first time in my life I was actually in fear of another woman.

"Put your shoes on and let's see what they do for your legs Dottie dear," Margarita said looking at me from her height advantage that was even more noticeable since I didn't have any shoes on.

I started to bend down to align my shoes ... and then stopped! The look on Margarita's face in and of itself was a 'warning.' I gulped again, louder this time. I looked at her with a demure glance. "Yes Miss Margarita," I replied. I watch as the expression on Margarita's face changed from the 'warning' expression to a soft subtle smile. She moved her face close to mine ... so close my senses were again filled with the wonderful scent she was wearing. She bent down the very few inches it took to place her lips on my forehead ... and she kissed me there!

"Oh God, I have to stop shaking ... I have to stop shaking," I was thinking to myself. Another switch in my brain had been turned to on, another junction had been sealed, and the connection finished, and I was feeling the effects of it throughout my inner being. "She kissed me ... she kissed me for remembering," I thought just like a young girl being given a sweet piece of candy for being good.

As I slipped my shoes on Margarita pulled the stool over, sat on it and then began to run her fingers over my legs. She started at the ankles, and the very first touch of her hand on my bare flesh sent more shivers up and down my spine. I looked down to watch the long, perfectly manicured fingers outlining my legs from my ankles up to my calves.

"Yes, yes ... the heels are the perfect height," Margarita said. "They show off the calves of your legs fairly good taking into consideration there wasn't much to work with in the beginning."

My chin dropped a little. I felt a little more of my self esteem drifting away. Yet the way Margarita said it and the tone of voice she used made it feel like this was something I had to accept. It was just one of the 'shortcomings,' just another one of the 'flaws' that this exceptionally beautiful Margarita was finding in me. If someone had said that before today, I would have been furious. Yet here today in front of the beautiful Margarita, I just felt ... inadequate! And I couldn't even protest.

Margarita got up off the stool and walked around to my back. I felt her fingers on my bra clasp. "Oh God, no ... no, geeze, she isn't going to ..." my mind was again in a free fall as I tried as hard as I could to stay calm. "Easy Dottie ... take it easy. She's just another woman. You've had your bra off in front of other women before. Easy ... easy," I reverted to talking to myself.

As the bra straps slipped over my arms and down to my wrists, I stopped the bra right there grasping on to the straps with my hands as though this was my last line of defense. It felt as though I was slowly drowning and someone had thrown me a life line and I didn't want to let go.

Margarita walked around to the front of me. She was only a foot away. I put my head down just enough so I didn't have to look into her eyes. I gulped again. For some reason I just knew Margarita was looking at my breasts but she wasn't just looking at them ... she was evaluating them! That scared me. I didn't like the feeling of being 'examined' in this way. But I couldn't move. I couldn't even speak! I was becoming completely consumed by the 'authority' of this woman and that feeling of her control over me had a profound effect on the way my mind was beginning to react to her.

Margarita took my each of my hands into each of her hands. She had grasped my hands by putting her fingers in the palms of my hands. She squeezed the palms of my hands and I felt a little comforted by the squeeze. It was as though the squeeze was her way of telling me 'everything is going to be all right.' She moved her fingers and took the bra in both of her hands and finished removing it completely from my body. She just let it drop to the floor right there in front of my wedding shoes. When my bra landed partly on my wedding shoes it may as well have been a ton of steel. Never before had I felt so naked from the neck down.

Margarita encircled each of her hands around my breasts. I watched from the view I had with my head in a downward position as her beautiful hands, the long fingers, and the highly polished violet colored fingernails lifted each breast individually. It felt almost as though she was trying to judge their size and their weight.

"Well, not bad," Margarita said. "I'd say 36 C-cup, correct?"

"Oh Lord, I wish ... I wish they were," I thought to myself. "How can I possibly tell her they are ... they are 34 C's?"

"No ... no ... ah, ... Miss Margarita ... they are ... they are 34 C's Ma'am," I answered. I looked up to see what expression my 'confession' that my breasts were not as big as she thought they were would have on her. Margarita just smiled. It was a confident smile, a smile of self-assurance, a smile that a hunter would have once they had their prey within their gun sights.

"Well now," Margarita started to speak again. "I designed your dress so you wouldn't have to wear a bra. Sexier that way I thought. But now I don't know. We may have to make some adjustments."

As Margarita was talking she was moving her hands around my breasts as though she was trying to figure out how she was going to solve this problem. She ran her long fingers making little circles around my areolas starting at the outer edge and then moving slowly closer and closer to the nipples themselves. Then with her index fingers she lightly flicked at the nipples, first one, then the other, then both of them at the same time.

I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath of air as I felt my nipples awakening. I felt them springing to life as though the bud of a flower was evolving into full bloom in rapid motion. I let out the air I had just inhaled and in brisk involuntary breaths I tried to replenish the air in my lungs.

"From the description Richard gave me, I was kind of hoping that you and I were almost the same size. I even reduced my assumption one size because I thought I could allow for some stretching in the material of the dress," Margarita said. "Hhhmmmmmm ... I wonder how I could have been so far off."

I heard Margarita's voice. I thought I was hearing what she was saying. But the way she was manipulating my breasts and nipples I was having a very hard time concentrating ... or was I even trying!

"Well let's see how I could have been one size off," Margarita said. "Would you mind unbuttoning my suit jacket Dottie honey?"

"Honey? ... honey? ... did she call me honey?" My mind was winding up again. A whole new sensation was going through my body when I heard that term of endearment! "Unbutton her suit jacket? ... Is that what she asked me? ... or, or was she telling me!" It didn't matter. My hands were now moving of their own accord. It was almost as though I didn't have any control over them. My fingers were shaking as I loosen the first button. They were shaking even more as I loosen the second button. By the time I got to the third and last button I was breathing rapidly trying to control my hands.

Margarita removed the jacket when I had finished unbuttoning it. She put it on the back of the chair and turned once again to face me. I only glanced at her beautiful face for a split second and then my eyes dropped to her chest.

"Oh my God," my thought processes were reaching warp speed as I looked at her breasts. Margarita's skin had a slight tan and as the cleavage between her breasts made the final plunge into her bra there was a hint of lighter skin ... skin that only very privileged people would ever have an opportunity to view. She was absolutely beautiful. "This was not just another woman," I thought to myself, "she is special ... very special!"