The Tailor

He stood back and looked at it.

"...which, as you can see changes the look of the dress considerably."

Jeanie regarded herself in the mirror. It didn't look right. She sighed. "You're right, Ajeet, it would be too different from the other dresses."

"Or I can create a special bra of sorts to hold your breasts down and slightly apart," he suggested, moving before Jeanie could respond.

He was behind her again and quickly peeled the triangle of fabric away. In the same manner as before, he scooped his entire hand around each of her breasts and flopped them free, yanking the dress down to her waist. Jeanie's entire upper body was again exposed.

Jeanie wanted to protest, but stayed silent, gently holding her hair with both hands above her head. Ajeet was behind her and they both watched as his grip returned to her breasts. His nimble hands lifted Jeanie's heavy, pale tits. He pulled them apart, then knocked them together, causing them to move dramatically. His thumbs pressed against her nipples.

Jeanie noticed he was looking at the dress from top to bottom, but while he was doing this, his hands were holding her breasts together and his thumbs were rubbing each nipple, causing them to ache with arousal.

She looked at the several reflections of her breasts in the mirror as he caressed each nipple with his long, brown thumb.

She did nothing to stop him. Her skin felt flush and her body, hot. There was a moist heat growing between her thighs. She realized she was panting.

Ajeet lightly caressed her breasts in his hands bouncing them playfully, then squeezed before letting them fall back together. He was fondling her between his more serious adjustments. He was mixing business with his pleasure and losing track of the distinction himself in his eagerness.

He reached back to the table and produced a small bolt of white, gauze-like fabric. He wrapped it around his hand and cut.

Before Jeanie even knew what he was doing he had the material wrapped around each breast individually, then around the middle of her back and over both breasts, creating a make-shift, strapless bra. He manipulated her expertly, increasing her arousal.

He repositioned Jeanie as he wanted her before the mirror. He pulled her dress back up and over her breasts which caused the dress to hang differently on her body.

She regarded herself in the mirrors on the brightly lit platform. Although the dress still needed to be let out, she could see how this could actually work.

"Wow! You're a genius!" Jeanie was sincerely impressed.

Ajeet smiled, turning her slightly, appraising his work. Satisfied, he moved behind her again and without warning, he pulled her dress down, this time to her ankles.

Jeanie felt a cold breeze followed by a hot, searing flash in her pussy as he did this. Now she was standing in nothing but her underwear and the strapless bra-thing he had just fashioned around her bosom.

He stood fully behind her, reached around and grabbed her breasts from behind, then moved them up and down and put them together creating cleavage. All this while looking at Jeanie. They made eye contact in the mirror.

"Yes, this will do nicely when I make the alterations for your dress," his voice was right in her ear, closer than before. As he said this, Jeanie could feel a stiff bulge pressing first into one butt cheek, then the other, then between them in her ass cleavage.

It was obviously his dick. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed.

Jeanie watched his movement behind her in the mirror. She could feel that her underwear was riding up behind her and revealing a lot of ass. Her pussy throbbed. She couldn't help it.

Ajeet released her fabric-covered tits and let his hands slide down her soft, smooth skin as he dipped down to her ankles. He fiddled with the dress at her ankles, taking the liberty to stare at her smooth butt cheeks, up close and personal. He leaned in, silently smelling her. The scent of her arousal was unmistakable.

He rose again, making sure to nestle his aching cock back between her ass cheeks, feeling the heat of her pussy through her panties and his pants. He fought the urge to smile and began unwrapping the fabric of the makeshift bra. Jeanie's tits again bounced free.

Ajeet couldn't help himself. He firmly gripped both breasts and abandoned all pretenses. Holding each breast, he thrust into her once, then again, then a third time, lewdly humping Jeanie in three strokes.

Jeanie was dazed and wasn't sure what to do. It felt like she was under a strange spell. She was held in his grasp and felt the rigid tip of his bulge poke directly against her panty-clad labia. Her pussy responded to his thrusts with a gush of wetness that she hoped would not become visible through her panties.

Ajeet took a tape measure and mumbled something about measuring her inseam. He crouched behind her and positioned her feet slightly wider apart. She let him part her legs, once again holding her hands over her head. She felt like she was about to get frisked.

Jeanie was exactly where Ajeet wanted her: a state of submission, willing to go along with nearly any command, and physical prodding. He knew without a doubt that he could have his way with her.

Ajeet's broad thumb pressed the end of his measuring tape right up against the thin, wet gusset of her thong panties. He stretched the tape down the inside of her thigh and began pumping his thumb against her aching opening. He seemed to know right where to touch her.

Jeanie held fast, growing uncontrollably aroused. She felt his fingers move against her panties. All she could think about was him plunging into her. There was only the pathetically thin barrier of her panties between them.

Ajeet moved and his knuckles dragged directly over her throbbing clit. He felt the stiff nub distinctly through her wet panties.

"OH!" she cried out in pleasure, her body seemed to act on its own, independent of her more rational mind that just wanted to collect her things and run away.

Jeanie was so surprised by the sudden contact on her clit that her knees nearly collapsed. She was embarrassed by the fact that she was inexplicably wet from all his touching, and shocked that she responded to his knuckles by pushing herself down against them to rub herself against his hand. She grinded her hips, ever so briefly, to maintain the exquisite contact of his knobby knuckles on her clit. The action was involuntary. Jeanie wanted relief.

Just as quickly as he had touched her, he removed his hand from between her legs and stood back up.

Ajeet could tell Jeanie was a submissive and would probably let him fuck her right then and there. He wanted to continue to explore her more with his hands and fingers, but thought it best to quit before he took things too far. He was very attracted to this bra-busting woman and wanted to fuck her on the fitting platform. It was his fantasy to fuck a curvy, hot white woman in front of the mirrors, like in the porn videos he preferred.

But, he'd wanted to take his time, have his way. He had another client in ten minutes, so he reluctantly decided to get back to being a tailor. He'd have to pursue the submissive Jeanie later.

Ajeet made eye contact with Jeanie, noting her flushed, dazed expression. He put his hand on her shoulder and said directly, "we are finished here."

Jeanie stood frozen, looking back at the Indian man she'd just met. Her huge tits ached for more as she stood there in only her panties with her hands held over her head. Her wetness was now tickling the inside of her thigh as it slowly dripped down her leg.

Ajeet continued to ogle her body in the mirror. "I will let out the fabric in the chest, reinforce the stitching in the shoulders, create a makeshift bra to support and re-form your breasts to fit the style of the dress, take in the waist and shorten the dress at the hem."

At last, he moved away from her, leaning over a table and writing everything he said onto a business duplicate receipt. He tore off her copy and handed it to her.

He stared directly at her dangling breasts. "Please, you may put your clothes on now. The dress will be ready by Thursday evening. Do you have any questions?" He seemed to be asking her tits.

Jeanie was stunned. 'What just happened?' She thought. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of arousal.

"Um, no," she stammered, then offered, "th- thank you for helping me."

At once, she realized her absurd position. She was standing naked except her thong panties, still holding her arms over her head. In a snap, Jeanie covered her breasts with her hands and practically jumped into to the dressing room.

On the way home, she cried aloud and said, "How could I let him do that to me!? What's wrong with me?"

Jeanie was disgusted with herself for letting the Indian tailor grope and fondle her.

She had only been gone for an hour, but it seemed much longer. She ran into her room and shut the door.

Jeanie had been living with her dad and sister since her divorce from Don. She and Don split everything and sold their house to divide the assets when they divorced. She hadn't found another place to live yet, so she stayed at home until she did. All she wanted now was to be alone.

In the solace of her room, she flopped onto the bed and buried her face into her pillow, letting the tears flow. She felt like a silly teenager.

She heard the familiar secret knock that only her sister knew. It was Cynthia.

She sniffled, blew her nose, and wiped away the tears as best as possible. "Come in."

Cynthia came in, closed the door, then crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, how did it go?" she asked in a snide tone. Her expression said it all.

Jeanie was genuinely sorry for procrastinating, but Cynthia's bristling attitude was only making things worse.

But Jeanie was determined to come through for her younger sister.

"It will be finished on Thursday evening," Jeanie remarked quietly, looking away.

Cynthia immediately regretted her harsh attitude toward her sister. Jeanie looked like she'd been crying. Cynthia realized she'd been too callous about her wedding and hadn't thought about her sister, still upset from her divorce.

"That's great news! So why do you look so upset?" Cynthia sat on Jeanie's bed and pet her hair. Much like her mom would do to her, before she had passed away.

"It's nothing. Just frustrated, I guess."

Jeanie couldn't bring herself to describe what had happened to her at the tailors for some reason.

Cynthia felt sorry for her sister.

"Is it Don?"

"Something like that. I think I just need some time alone." Jeanie felt like taking a nap.

Jeanie lay down to sleep. She cried some more and curled up in a ball, wallowing in her self-pity.

She couldn't get Ajeet's wandering hands out of her mind. His mixture of gentle and firm squeezes, the way he smoothed her dress and grabbed her body. His strange mannerisms.

She was disgusted by the skinny man. Disgusted by his fake politeness and wandering hands. His prodding fingers. His perfectly white teeth and the smell of strange spices that clung to his clothes.

Jeanie fell asleep as she thought about the scene at the tailors.

After waking up and taking a shower, she felt a good deal better. She decided not to tell anyone about her being molested by Ajeet. 'It wasn't that big of a deal, after all', she rationalized, 'he was forced to touch me in intimate places simply by the nature of the job.'

She continued her thought process. 'I've seen tailors measure men's inseams and smooth the fabric of their jackets. I've even seen dad take his trousers off and stand there in his underwear waiting for the tailor to mark-up his sleeves. I guess what Ajeet was doing wasn't all that out of the ordinary.'

Her rationalization helped to temporarily quiet her guilty conscience. She buried the fact that there was no practical or professional reason for Ajeet to measure her inseam since she was having a dress altered.

Jeanie worked as an account representative for a national food service supply company and had some work to do before she could fully relax. Her job had her traveling quite a bit, which could be a hassle, but the job also allowed her to work from home whenever she wanted, which was a huge fringe benefit.

That evening, as she finished her work emails, she lay on her bed in a short, white skirt and tank top.

She had been having difficulty putting Ajeet's wandering hands out of her mind. Perhaps she should report him. Who would she call? The police? If she did, how would she get her dress back? Was this more important than her being the maid of honor in her sister's wedding? Is a divorcee a maid or matron of honor? Her head was swimming with thoughts.

Ultimately, she decided that as offensive as Ajeet's creepy touching was, she never felt threatened, nor did she feel that she made even the most minimal effort to get him to stop and that the police would most likely not take her complaint seriously as a result.

She was faced with the fact that she would either have to retrieve her dress and have someone else work on it this week, or be more assertive when she returned for the fitting on Friday.

Jeanie thought back to the tailor's shop that day. She could remember the way that the Indian man handled her. He was non-stop with his touching, fondling, rubbing, poking, groping. She thought that he must use his trade to secretly touch women as he was performing his duties as a tailor.

'What a perv,' she thought, feeling a strange tingling. She dismissed admitting to herself that she was getting turned on.

She remembered very vividly the way he pressed her breasts together and took liberties with her bare, exposed nipples by twisting and rubbing them.

Jeanie recalled his soft, yet firm and capable hands smoothing the material and squeezing her waist. He seemed to have had his hands all over her at once. She also seemed to remember him touching himself, but at the time she shrugged off the thought as being a figment of her imagination.

Ajeet. He wasn't very tall, probably just slightly taller than she was. Very polite, but somehow domineering. Again, she thought back to the way he touched her.

He seemed to know how to touch a woman.

She thought, 'Don didn't know how to touch me. He squeezed too hard and didn't touch me to make me feel pleasure, only to pleasure himself.' Ajeet's touching was different.

Jeanie's nipples throbbed and became hard as she thought back to the considerate, yet firm way he touched her breasts. It was like she was being worshiped by the Indian man.

She had never in her life thought of an Indian man sexually, in fact, she could not recall a time when she thought of an Indian man at all. Now, she couldn't get the thought of Ajeet out of her mind.

In a matter of about ten minutes, Jeanie's thoughts evolved from turning Ajeet in to the police for molesting her, to wanting him to touch her more and with greater license.

She recalled his fingers and thumbs flicking and rubbing her needy, firm nipples as he was making his adjustments...while she was all but entirely naked on the platform.

Jeanie turned on her side in her bed.

She was experiencing inner turmoil: hatred for Ajeet for feeling he could touch her sexually without her consent, and then arousal from Ajeet touching her sexually...without her consent.

Enough. She resolved to put Ajeet out of her mind. She tried to think of the wedding, now less than a week away. How would she handle men coming up to her and asking her to dance? She wasn't ready to have a boyfriend. Nor was she ready to date. She had to be more protective of herself so she wouldn't be used yet again.

Her thoughts returned to Ajeet. That fucking perverted Indian man.

'Why was I so wet when he rubbed me? How embarrassing! His touching was driving me mad! He felt my wetness. He knew I was wet! Oh, my God!'

She rolled over onto her knees and smashed her face into her pillow.

Laying there, she could feel her heart beating wildly. Her tits mashed against her thighs and she slid her ass up into the air for more room. Why was she aroused by that man?

It occurred to her that this was her favorite position for doggy-style sex. Ass up, face down. She absently moved a hand to knead one huge breast. Her stiff nipple dragged across her palm, reminding her of his hands.

Jeanie moved her other hand down her body. She slipped her reaching fingers inside the waistband of her shorts, between her legs. She deliberately made a V with her fingers and pinched her swollen pussy lips together, teasing herself. They were soaked. She began to stick her fingers into herself as she thought of Ajeet's fingers and knuckles rubbing against her.

She loved how he took control of her, but hated that she loved how he took control of her.

She used two fingers to pump her little pussy inside her damp, humid shorts. Her soaked pussy was responding quickly. When was the last time she came? She couldn't remember her last orgasm.

She moaned deeply into her pillow. Her orgasm was building rapidly. She took a deep breath and held it, spreading her legs wider as she fucked herself with two fingers. The sounds of her drenched pussy were loud and she became concerned that someone else may hear the sloppy smacking of her fingers. She was forced to slow her pace.

Her thoughts were a collage of brown hands squeezing her white flesh, rubbing her pussy, softly pinching her nipples. His overly polite voice was giving her fantasy commands in her head:

"Please, get on your hands and knees; please, open your mouth; please, place my cock in your mouth..." He commanded with his friendly Indian accent and she obeyed. She envisioned performing oral sex on the Indian man. She saw herself on her hands and knees, her head bobbing as he sighed contentedly. She tried to imagine sucking on his brown, uncircumcised penis. Would it taste different?

She fucked herself rigorously wanting his thick cock inside her. She rocked her body back onto her fingers, kneeling on her bed with her face buried in her pillow, moaning loudly.

A mental image flashed in her mind. Ajeet was staring at her, his gaze intense, as his hands held her bare breasts from behind. His thumbs were rubbing her nipples. Recalling this specific position, his fondling her overtly. There was something about this action that really got to her. It occurred to her that it could serve no other purpose than to fondle her breasts. It was by no means related to tailoring her dress.

Jeanie came immediately and very powerfully. She screamed into her pillow, her body melting with pleasure. She sucked in a breath, then just bit down on her pillow as hard as she could, moaning quietly and pathetically. The intense crescendo made her body shake as she clutched her breast and grinded into her own hand fucking herself.

She returned to earth, blinking her eyes open. She sat up, pulling her face out of her pillow. A string of drool connected her mouth to a wet spot where she'd drooled on her pillow. As she recovered, she hoped her sister and father couldn't hear her from the other room.

After her very confusing but gratifying orgasm, Jeanie had an uneventful evening staying at home helping with her sister's numerous panic attacks about the wedding. Later, she watched a movie with her dad.

That night as she prepared for bed, she had a very difficult time not giving in to temptation and masturbating a second time to thoughts of Ajeet and his wandering hands.

Over the next few days, the wedding took up most of Jeanie's free time. She was working in the mornings at home so she would be able to help her sister prepare for her special day; this Saturday. Jeanie found it was difficult to watch someone else get married while she had such an awful experience herself.