Drowning in the Wake Ch. 03

Outside the cafe, Elise's poise abandoned her. She was no further than around the corner when she was forced to stop and try to collect herself, to quell the shaking inside her. It was like her whole body was falling apart. Shaking from the mortifying embarrassment. From the quaking orgasm whose tendrils were still curling through her abdomen.

She put a hand out and leaned against the smooth steadiness of one of the plane trees lining the street. Jesus Christ. Her legs shook, standing there in her heels, and she felt emptied, like she'd just run for her life — shot up with adrenaline and drained of everything else. Her muscles were spasming — in her tummy, in her legs — and she still hadn't gotten her breath back. Her pussy was tingling, buzzing, still clenching at an imaginary cock, as if it knew its only job was to bring pleasure, to wrap itself around rock hard cock and squeeze the cum out of it. To pull the cum out just by being soft, and pretty and delicate.

It wouldn't stop. Her whole body felt like it was betraying her. She couldn't bring it under control, and as the shaking spread through her — into her arm trying to hold her upright, then her shoulders — she really thought she was losing it.

And just like that, standing there in the street, relying on a tree for support, her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't help it. It was like the orgasm had drawn every last drop of life force from her, left her empty and wrung out, and flung her into the street. She had nothing left — and the day hadn't even started.

She looked around, self-conscious, and tried to get her legs to co-operate. She had so much to do today — somehow she had to get a job! — but all she wanted was to go to bed. All her efforts to look good, to prepare herself mentally as much as physically to get herself out of this jam, and she'd dashed them all — thinking about Leo. Spreading her legs and jamming her fingers into her pussy in public like that was even mildly normal. What the fuck was wrong with her? What was she doing here, struggling to stand — leaning against a tree, for fuck's sake. Crying from what, a too-intense orgasm? Jesus Christ, who was she?

But even as she berated herself — you pathetic slut, you can't even handle your own orgasms — she realized her tears might not simply be born of the intensity of the orgasm, but the power of the memory. The memories that never seemed to leave her alone. The constant reminder of how good it had been, how much she had loved him — how much she'd been sure he loved her — and the reinforcement over and over that he really had gone. He'd left her. He was fucking someone else. He was lost in someone else. The way she was still, hopelessly, lost in him. A sob hiccuped its way out of her and she forced down hard to stop it escalating. She wouldn't make a spectacle of herself in the street! And the thought of that brought a sardonic smile to her face — after the ridiculous spectacle she'd just made of herself in the cafe.

The moment of levity helped, and Elise soon found herself steeling herself — such that her legs stopped shaking, and she no longer needed the tree for support. And soon, with her eyes mostly dry, and reason returning to her legs, to her tummy — she could take in her surroundings anew. A job. Yes.

It hadn't occurred to her when she left the house — who the fuck knew where she'd thought she was going to look — but now she thought of the art school, what was it called? It was only a few blocks away. The noticeboard there sometimes had ads for models, for a senior project or a life drawing class. There might be something...

But even as she thought it, she felt her sopping wet panties clinging to her still drenched pussy lips, and she knew she couldn't go anywhere like this. Even if they couldn't tell, she wouldn't be able to think straight — to put her mind to anything beyond the way the material sawed back and forth against her sensitive lips, how it stuck and unstuck to her, flicking her clit with every step she made. The constant reminder of what a slut she was. How much she was ruled by her needy pussy — the thought of giving it to a big fat cock. Making it go rock fucking hard. Caressing it, squeezing and stroking it, till it just had to fire rockets of cum all over her. Holy shit.

She was actually crazy. There was actually something wrong with her. Just thinking about how she had to change her slutty little panties because they were too wet to function in had set her mind off again. More thoughts of cocks and cuming, and the delicious validation that only came when she forced a man to lose control, when her tight pussy, and her firm tits and her tight ass made him groan with desire, and the way she pushed back hungrily onto his iron rod made it spasm with need... Jesus!

She had to cut it out. Already she could feel herself adding to the moisture coating the inside of her far-too-sheer panties. It just had to be leaking through to the outside. People would practically be able to smell her! She needed to change them — just find a regular pair, you silly little bitch! What had she been thinking? Choosing the sexiest pair she owned? Sending that message to her already over-eager snatch? Of course she'd gotten excited.

She had to quieten it down. She had to shut it off, for fuck's sake. Some plain white cotton briefs was the answer. Practicality. Functionality. Comfort. But just as she turned for home, a feeling of dread shot through her — she didn't want to go back there. That's where the ghost of Leo was the strongest. Where the feeling of his loss — the memory of him actually walking out the door, the things he'd said — was hardest to avoid. And she just couldn't take any more. Not today.

Did she really have to go home? Just to change her panties? For a moment she thought about just taking them off. Just finding a bathroom somewhere and pulling the sodden material down her legs and off, leaving her pussy to feel the touch of the open air. To dry out naturally. No-one needed to know...

But she'd know. That was the problem. She'd know she was walking round in a short little flippy dress with nothing on underneath, her perfectly waxed pussy exposed to anyone who might be given an accidental glimpse — the merest breath of wind as she walked... if she sat the wrong way... A look right up her deliciously smooth thighs, to her pink little folds that no-one was meant to see...

But now of course, all she could think about was having someone see. Having someone know... Having someone push her up against a wall, and just take her defenseless little pussy. Assuming that because she hadn't bothered to cover it, to protect it, to defend it, she had relinquished her right to refuse them. That she was asking for it.

The thought made her pussy clench, and it was like she could feel the pussy juice sliding through her, making its way hurriedly to her succulent lips, to seep into the already saturated material of her g-string. Fucking hell — this had to stop. If she could just get into some normal underwear — if she could just put something on her pussy that didn't scream sex, didn't constantly remind her how horny she was, how filthy she was, how she looked like she was too good for almost anyone and yet she needed it so fucking badly she'd let almost anyone fuck her if they just took control. If they didn't ask. If they were just man enough to force her to be the good little girl who just takes it. Who just has to spread her legs — wider, little one — and remember to point her toes as she's impaled on his shaft.

God dammit! That was enough. Her legs were shuddering again now, and she forced herself to start walking — to where, she had no idea — just to get her jittery legs in motion again, and to wrench her mind from her pussy, from sex, from cock, from pleasure, to the duties of the day. The demands of her life.

The first item on the agenda — dry panties. Normal panties. Everyday panties. Underwear. Knickers. Briefs. As unsexy and practical as she could find... Maybe she could just go to a Target or something. K-Mart. Just buy a pack of ten or something — different colours maybe... different patterns for him to pick from. Stop!

And somehow forcing her thoughts to stop, made her feet stop too. And she stood there on the sidewalk as people passed around her, telling herself off. What the fuck is wrong with you? Can't you concentrate for a single god-damn minute?

That's when she saw it, the sign outside the shop window: Intime. She knew what it was immediately — a name like that could only be for one kind of store. And she realized she'd seen it before. The mannequins in the window dressed in come-fuck-me lace lingerie — outfits to send a man to his grave, updated every week, maybe every day.

That was the last thing she needed right now. A lacy little g-string and bra combination. Stockings held up with a garter belt. An ensemble made for making her look as hot as it was possible to look. To be revealed underneath her Burberry trench coat. Louboutin heels and a black lace lingerie set. Take me. It's yours. Unwrap me. Eat me. Fuck!

But surely they had something else too, she told herself as she made her way hesitantly towards the shopfront. Surely it wasn't all sexy stuff. Surely they had grandma panties too. Tan-colored panty girdles and white cotton briefs for bedtime. Surely...

And in Elise's exhausted brain, there seemed like no better option than to enter the lingerie store, despite the mannequins being dressed in two of the sexiest, sheerest, most microscopic g-string sets she'd ever seen. And despite her pussy throbbing against the wet mesh of her own barely-there panties. She pulled the door open, making the bell give a tingle, and drew the attention of the two pretty blonde shopkeepers behind the register.

'Good morning,' the older one said, coming around the desk towards her. 'Do you need any help?' She must have been forty maybe — was her hair dyed? — and perfectly put together, in a long, silky pink skirt, and a cream cashmere sweater.

'I... no, I'm just...'

'Of course,' the woman said, with an understanding smile. 'Just let us know if you need anything. I'm Sondra, and this is Lily.'

The girl behind the counter gave a soft smile. There was light piano music playing in the background, and Elise thought she could smell a slight scent of lavender.

'I'm Elise,' she managed. She felt so awkward — she should have just gone to Target. Just bought a pack of nondescript cotton briefs. Why hadn't she done that?

The woman said something about leaving her to it, and Elise was able to move slowly through the store, pretending to be interested in the lacy, colourful and wildly patterned bras. She fingered a couple, just trying to look like she was browsing, and then moved to the next section, little silky camisoles, then lacy teddies — holy shit! This was the wrong direction. Why couldn't she just have said what she was looking for?

And by the time she found the panties section — table after table of delicate little panties laid out, every color and cut and pattern imaginable — her pussy was tingling again like crazy. She wanted to wear all of them. She wanted to show them off to Leo. She wanted him to pull her to the bed and spread her wide, shoving the delicate material to the side and feasting on her slippery little slit.

Suddenly the girl was there — Lily — how old was she? Was she even old enough to... She was so... 'Pretty,' she said, and Elise looked down at her hands, which were absently stroking a tiny pair of satiny pink panties. 'I like these ones too,' she added, reaching over and pulling from the neat display a seemingly matching pair, only in lilac. 'I have a pair of these myself. They're so comfy, but they're a little bit sexy as well.'

Elise turned to her. She was beautiful. She wore a periwinkle blue dress, with a tight bodice and a very short, flaring skirt that just looked like it was made for twirling, for flashing the boys your panties. For getting flung onto the bed and having your ankles thrown above your head, still in your heels, and fucked to oblivion, while downstairs everyone still thinks you're a good girl. And that your father's best friend would never do something like that.

'Yes, very pretty,' Elise stammered again. She didn't know what was the matter with her. Something about this store. Everything was so... feminine. The music, the soft lighting, the tinkling music, the two pretty salespeople, the dainty little pieces of silk and satin, designed to complement a woman's every curve, to make men salivate, to want to rip things apart, rip her apart, to hold her open whether she likes it or not and pound her into the bed, into the headboard, into unconsciousness. Into womanhood.

The girl — Lily — she had blue eyes. Like Leo. Oh fuck. They were so clear, so fresh — like youth itself. How old was she? 'Is there something particular you were looking for?'

Elise didn't know what to say. She found herself taking a step back — thrown by the girl's beauty. Was the scent coming from her? She looked so incredibly... she was untouched. Her eyes were pure femininity, innocence — the way a girl of what, eighteen?, were meant to be. Should she even be here? A place like this? Should she be asking her about panties? About what she wanted to cover her pussy in? How she wanted to decorate herself? What she thought a man might like to see? What she'd put on before a date, thinking about his face when he first uncovered them.

And as she looked at her in her girlish but undeniably sexy dress, Elise was assaulted by the flash through her mind — what panties did she have on under that dress? Christ, Elise! But she couldn't help it — the girl was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen — sugar and spice and all things nice. Still without ever having anything not nice happen to her. No snakes or snails, or puppy dog tails. No dirt, or grease, or engine oil. No bruises or grazes or stains. No red marks, or bite marks, or... Jesus. Her pussy was throbbing again. Just from looking at the girl. The girl she might once have been. The girl she would give anything to be again. So pretty, so innocent... Did she know how sexy she was? What the fuck was she even doing working in a lingerie store?

She remembered with a jerk that she was meant to say something. The girl was looking at her expectantly, almost worried: Was she okay? Was she? And again Elise found she was replying before she knew what she'd say. 'I need some panties,' she said, instantly cringing. Who said that?

'We can help you with that,' the girl said. Did she mean it to seem flirty? That smile, like a summer's day. 'Is there something particular...?'

'Just something plain,' Elise said, again without giving it enough thought. 'Just something... comfortable. A full brief...'

'Of course,' the girl said. 'Sondra?'

And then the older woman was at the table as well. 'Yes, we have some wonderful options, Elise. Do you have a particular color in mind, a style perhaps?' But already she was selecting pairs — a scarlet red, a pale yellow — fuck Leo would destroy her in those! — a little cotton pair with butterflies, a satiny black and white polka dot pair with a little pink bow on the front... She found herself just watching as the older woman selected a range of panties from the table and the adjoining wall. A thought fluttered through her mind — why did so many panties have that little bow on the front? Was it to tell the man that she was his present? That her panties were the wrapping for the gift she was giving him — of her delicious pussy, perfectly prepared for him, and already eager to clamp down on his cock and caress the cum from his balls?

'Maybe just something white,' she stammered, 'plain. Beige maybe. Tan.' But even as she said it, Sondra was suggesting to Lily to show her the change rooms. 'I'll be right there with an appropriate selection.'

Lily met her eyes, smiling in a way Elise knew she could no longer pull off. Beautiful, warm, kind. No ulterior motive. The girl took her by the hand — seriously? — And gently led her towards the back of the store.

There was a curtain, deep red velvet, which Lily pushed through, ushering her into a surprisingly large room. A large round pouffe — the same red as the curtains — dominated the centre of the space, with white plush carpet, and cream wallpaper with light pink roses. The wall directly opposite was completely mirrored. To both her left and right were what seemed to be smaller change rooms, with curtains of their own.

Elise's instincts launched her into reverse — and the urge to back straight out was so strong she broke free of Lily's gentle fingers, and took a step back towards the curtains that had already closed back in on themselves. But even as she did, Sondra was pushing through them, 'I've found one or two things which are quite exquisite,' she was saying, almost as if she expected her to be exactly where she was, retreating towards the exit. 'Come,' she said lowering her pile of multi-colored panties onto the circular couch. 'Why don't we try something on, hmm?'

And there was something about the assurance of her voice, the certainty of her comportment, the thickness of the curtains seeming to block out all thought of a world beyond it, the warmth of the shop, the softness of the music, the delicateness of the scent, and the beauty of the girl... The way she was being treated with such attention... Yes, that was it. They were both entirely focused on her. It sent a tingle through her. She was the centre of attention. Of a powerful woman, and an incredibly beautiful young girl who could give her attention to whatever she fancied... Did they give this level of care to everyone?

Lily guided her to the filmy cream curtains on the right, and held them open for her — would they even fully shield her nakedness? 'I'll be right back with something for you to try.'

When the curtain closed, and Elise was left alone in the pink-and-cream change room, with its large oval mirror, and red velvet armchair, she had a moment of the most complete blankness. She didn't know what she should do. But there was nothing really she could do, but to remove her panties.

Oh shit. The thought hit her like lightning. She was soaked! Her panties were wet through, her lips were drenched and her pussy was still leaking like crazy! She didn't have her handbag, she didn't have tissues or anything. She couldn't try on brand new little panties with such a wet pussy... But she could hear the two women talking, and she knew Lily would return any moment. And so she did the only thing she could do — she wriggled out of her panties as quickly as she could, pulling them over her black pumps, and dabbed the wet material against her lips, trying vainly to soak up whatever moisture she could.

She tossed the tiny scrap of soaked mesh to the floor behind the armchair and pressed her fingers against her folds. Okay. It would be okay... She wouldn't embarrass herself...

And then Lily was at the curtain. 'May I come in?' And the way she said it, so soft and girlish like that, Elise found she couldn't imagine saying anything but yes.

She was holding the yellow pair. Really? They were starting with the yellow pair? And starting what? What did they expect? How many pairs were there? Was she to try them all on? Did they expect to see... And judge? That thought sent a shockwave from her clit to her bellybutton. Holy fuck — did she want to?