The Boutique

Sharon Ralston straightened the sweaters on their hangers, making sure they hung evenly and in alignment with each other. She was moving slowly along the racks, tidying a little here, picking off a loose thread there, while keeping an eye out for customers. The boutique was fairly quiet at the moment, with only a few customers browsing through the items on display.

Sharon had been working in the little boutique, called The Fabric of Temptation (a name that Sharon secretly thought was just a little corny), for almost four weeks now. She'd applied for a number of jobs for the summer vacation, wanting to make some more money than the allowance her parents gave her. Some of it she would save for later, like her parents wanted her to, but some she would use to spruce up her wardrobe for when school would start again in August. All through the previous year Sharon had been acutely aware of not being nearly as stylish as some of the other girls in her class, especially snooty Mallory Hampstead and her crowd. With some new clothes from the boutique, and maybe a little help from Monica, Sharon was looking forward to the coming school year with gloating anticipation.

Peeking over a rack of blouses, Sharon looked at Monica, who was busy seeing to a couple of customers on the other side of the room. At the sight of the owner of The Fabric of Temptation, Sharon couldn't help but sigh with envy.

Monica Leland was a tall, well-built brunette in what Sharon guessed to be her late twenties. She was everything Sharon, at an insecure 18 years of age, wanted to be. She had an absolutely unerring sense of style, and always dressed in not what was the latest fashion, but what was soon to become the latest fashion. Whatever she put on, it looked perfect on her. The woman moved with a grace Sharon only felt emphasised her own teenage coltishness, was never lost for words in any company, and radiated confidence and sophistication; in short, she was everything teenage girls aren't. Furthermore, she had a fantastic body, with long legs, large round breasts, a flat belly and a tight, round arse. When Sharon had asked her where she worked out, Monica had waved her hand self-depreciatingly and said that it was 'just some exercise routines I go through at home'.

Next to Monica, Sharon was gloomily convinced she looked pale and insignificant, pretty much like she'd felt all through last year of school. Sharon was 170 centimetres tall against Monica's nearly 180; she had shoulder-length blonde hair that kept its boring, straight shape no matter what she did with it; a pale, slightly unhealthy complexion like many teenagers, with pale blue eyes, thin lips and a straight nose. Her body still wasn't fully grown; she felt her bum was too large (although, in all fairness, an unbiased observer would have thought it very nice indeed), with skinny legs, a bit of puppy fat on her belly she just couldn't get rid of, and breasts that had just barely grown large enough to warrant a B-cup.

The first week after Monica had hired her for the summer, Sharon had been too shy to even speak with her employer. As they grew on each other, though, she had gradually begun to talk with her about things not related to work, and to her surprise found the older woman to be charming and very pleasant, never talking down to her or being condescending, even when Sharon felt she'd displayed her ignorance on any given subject for everyone to see. She'd begun tentatively to ask Monica's advice on make-up, clothes and the like, and the stately brunette had immediately taken her under her wing. Monica had told her what colours to wear and which ones to avoid, what type of clothes emphasised her strong features and concealed her weak ones, and what tones of make-up to wear and how to properly apply them. As a result, Sharon not only looked better, but was feeling a lot more confident as well.

Sensing that Monica was about to make a sale, Sharon wandered over to the cash register and was waiting when the customers, two women in their late twenties, brought their garments over. While Sharon rang up the sale and folded the clothes neatly, Monica moved in on another browsing customer with a friendly smile.

The last couple of hours before closing time were quite uneventful, and soon the last customer disappeared and the two women began the daily routine of closing up. Sharon removed the cash drawer from the till and brought it into the back room, while Monica pulled down the steel mesh that covered the windows.

When Monica came into the back room, Sharon had just finished counting the cash in the drawer and was getting ready to lock it up in the safe when she saw that Monica was carrying a package wrapped in silk paper and grinning happily at her.

"What is it?" Sharon asked, nonplussed.

"It's just a little something I've put aside for you," Monica replied, still grinning. She thrust out the package towards Sharon. "Go ahead, open it."

Sharon took the package. The flimsy silk paper wrapping crackled under her touch. The package was light and soft. Casting a sideways glance at Monica, she carefully untied the string and peeled back the paper. When she saw what was inside, she gasped. Carefully she lifted out the top garment, a red long-sleeved top made from some light, fluffy material. Underneath was a long skirt in a slightly lighter shade of red, made from what appeared to be pure silk. Sharon's hands trembled slightly; she knew immediately that she had never owned anything this expensive in her life.

"Do you like it?" Monica asked, a smug smile on her lips.

"It's beautiful!" Sharon whispered reverently.

"I put those aside specially for you," explained Monica. "With your hair hanging loose and a touch of the right make-up, it should be perfect."

Sharon just stared in awe at the clothes. Then she put the garment back down. "I... I can't accept this," she said. "I mean, they must have cost more than I've earned since I began here. It's too much."

Monica waved her hand dismissively, brushing Sharon's objections aside. "Nonsense," she snorted. "You've more than earned it. You put in full days here, six days a week, and God knows I'm not paying you a fortune. From where I'm standing, this is a bonus. And a well-earned bonus, at that."

"I don't know what to say," said Sharon weakly.

Monica shrugged. "You don't have to say anything." She smiled again. "But if you think I'm letting you leave here before you've tried those on, you must be mad. Go ahead, put them on and prove me right."

Sharon grinned with delight and began pulling her sweater over her head. For a moment she almost hesitated, feeling a little embarrassed by stripping down to her underwear in front of the stylish Monica, but the desire to try her new outfit on triumphed easily over embarrassment. With her sweater gone, she unbuttoned her jeans and peeled them down over her hips and thighs. Monica, smiling wordlessly, handed her first the skirt, and as soon as Sharon had pulled it on, the top.

Tugging at the hem of her top, Sharon turned to the full-size mirror on the wall next to the couch and regarded herself critically. Even her innate teenage self-depreciation failed to find anything wrong with how she looked. The skirt fit snugly over her hips, tapering towards her ankles and thus showing her curvy bum and hips and slender legs to their best advantage. The top had a loose neckline, exposing her slender neck and emphasising the soft femininity of her throat. It fit loosely over her breasts, the soft fluffy material making them look a little bigger than they really were. The top was short, exposing a wide strip of her belly, and Sharon self-consciously tried to pull it further down.

"Stop doing that," Monica admonished her. The tall brunette stepped up behind Sharon, reaching around her waist and gently slapping away her fingers. "Stand with your arms straight out to the sides." Sharon did as instructed, and the hem slipped up a little farther, showing even more midriff. With deft, delicate fingers Monica straightened the hem, her warm fingers brushing against Sharon's soft belly. Satisfied, she crouched down behind her, tugging and twisting her skirt to make it fit just so, then smoothing it over her hips and thighs as she rose again. When Monica's hands moved around and slid over the front of her hips and thighs, Sharon felt mildly uncomfortable being touched so intimately by another woman, but the brisk, businesslike manner Monica displayed put her mind at ease, and she stood still and let the older woman do her thing.

The brunette's graceful hands moved up to Sharon's neck, adjusting the neckline a little, her fingers brushing the teenager's throat. "Maybe a necklace here," Monica mused behind her. "A thin gold chain, I think, with a small red stone to match the outfit." She gathered Sharon's hair in her hands and spread it out over her shoulders, fluffing it up a little. "Of course, if you really want to make an impact," she went on, "you should get your hair done, you know, rough it up a little, and maybe some darker highlights. Give you more contrast." She rested her hands on Sharon's shoulders, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

"Thank you so much," said Sharon. "It's the loveliest clothes I've ever owned."

"You're very welcome," said Monica gravely. "Just promise me you'll wear it to school, upstage those girls you told me about."

Sharon imagined with dark glee the look on Mallory's face when she showed up looking like this. The thought made her feel warm inside. "What brand is it?" she asked Monica, anticipating the question she'd be getting. "I didn't see any labels."

"Of course not," replied Monica. "Quality pieces like these don't have labels. Anyone who matters will recognise it when they see it; those who don't, aren't anyone you'd care to impress anyway."

Sharon took a long, last look at herself in the mirror, twisting around to get a look at herself from any angle she could. Then, temporarily satisfied, she carefully began to take off her new clothes. She folded them neatly, first the top, then the skirt, and put them back in the silk paper. She was just reaching for her jeans when she noticed that Monica was eyeing her speculatively.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling a faint blush spread across her cheeks at being scrutinised so closely. And for another reason as well, something she couldn't quite identify.

"I think we need to accessorise a little," said Monica. "Some nice lingerie, I believe."

Sharon blushed even more, this time from embarrassment. She was wearing a very ordinary pair of cotton panties, and the only bra she had right now that fit her growing breasts properly, and as a result, was somewhat grey from having been washed over and over again. Monica, she was sure, would ever have been caught dead in something like this.

"Oh no, I can't... It's too much already..." Sharon began, but Monica took her hand and pulled her towards the door to the showroom, ignoring the fact that she was only in her underwear.

"Nonsense," she said firmly. "If you're getting dressed up, we're going to do it right. And that means lingerie to match." Ignoring Sharon's feeble protestations, she led the way insistently, and Sharon had no choice but to follow meekly or be dragged bodily through the door.

In the boutique, now dark but for the light from the rear office and what little light spilled through the mesh covering the windows, Monica headed straight for the corner where the lingerie was displayed. Once there, she began rummaging swiftly through the racks, considering and discarding sets of lingerie with astonishing speed. Finally, she appeared to settle on a pale rose-coloured bra-and-panties combination that she held up against Sharon and nodded in satisfaction.

"Yes, I believe this will do nicely," she muttered mostly to herself. She thrust the flimsy garments at Sharon. "Go on, let's go in and try these on."

Sharon, clutching the lingerie in her hands, was rapidly herded across the floor and back inside the back room. Monica manoeuvred her in front of the mirror and gestured almost impatiently at her. "All right, try them on," she encouraged her.

"I can't try them on," Sharon objected. "What if they don't fit? We can't sell them afterwards."

Monica gave her a look that was half amused and half exasperated. "Of course they'll fit," she said. "I picked them, didn't I? Now let's see how you look."

Blushing bright crimson, Sharon reached up behind her back and unhooked her bra, sliding it off her shoulders and down her arms. She was feeling quite uncomfortable getting naked in front of Monica, but the fear of being perceived as an immature child was greater than any embarrassment, so she choked it down and proceeded to slide her panties down her legs. When she looked up, she saw Monica looking at her in the mirror, and she instinctively tried to cover herself with her arms without appearing obvious about it.

"You don't have to hide like that," came Monica's soothing voice from behind her. "You have a lovely body." Sharon blushed even more; she was beginning to worry that she'd burst a blood vessel in her face soon. If anyone else, like her mother, had said anything like that, she would have howled with embarrassment and run from the room. Coming from Monica, however, it made her feel pleasantly warm inside. Mothers and girlfriends were supposed to say things like that, so their opinions didn't count; when Monica said it, it carried real weight. Making a conscious effort to act naturally, Sharon picked up the panties and unhooked them from the hanger.

The lingerie Monica had picked for her was feather-light, flimsy things with a swirling floral pattern. Only now, when holding it in her hands, did Sharon notice that the areas between the patterns were so thin as to be virtually transparent. There was fine lace along the hem of both the panties and the bra. Holding it delicately, afraid to tear the flimsy material, Sharon pulled the panties on and up her legs. "Here, I'll get that for you," said Monica as Sharon slipped on the bra. The brunette's fingers deftly snapped the clasp shut behind Sharon's back.

"You look fantastic," Monica stated with conviction as she looked at Sharon in the mirror. "I'd say you could snag any bloke you wanted, looking like this."

Sharon made a face. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Why, you're not interested in boys?"

Sharon shrugged. "I guess I am, it's just that they're so... silly."

"Silly how?" Monica inquired.

"You know, they're nice enough when they're alone, but when their friends are around, they get all obnoxious. And whenever there's a party or something, they get all drunk and start groping." She vividly recalled the last party she'd been at, where George, a boy in her class she rather liked, had got completely pissed, tried to feel her tits, been noisily sick in a potted plant and passed out on the floor. She shuddered with remembered revulsion.

"If it's any consolation, they do improve with age," Monica assured her.

"Really?"

"Well, most of them do, anyway," she amended. "Some, unfortunately, remain at that level the rest of their lives." She gave Sharon's shoulders a little squeeze. "But it's not like you're in a hurry. And you do look fabulous; I really mean it."

"Thanks," Sharon said demurely. She pulled a little on the bra, more to have anything to occupy herself with than because it fit poorly. Somehow it managed to lift her breasts without appearing to do so, making them look bigger, something Sharon rather liked. The semi-transparent material was quite daring, she thought, with the strategically placed floral pattern just barely concealing her nipples. The panties were high-cut, subtly giving the impression of her legs being longer, while fitting snugly over her bum.

"Will you stop fussing already," Monica laughed. "There's not much you can do to improve on this, you know." She reached around Sharon's waist and gently brushed away her hands. She straightened the bra straps where Sharon's fussing had left them askew; then her hands moved to the cups, tugging and adjusting slightly. Sharon was suddenly very aware of the other woman's close proximity, the feeling of her arms around her waist and her own almost-nakedness. God, it's hot in here, she thought; Monica must have cranked up the thermostat earlier. Monica cupped the underside of her breasts, pushing them up while adjusting the bra. The other woman's hands on her breasts made Sharon's stomach tighten.

In an attempt to gracefully escape the awkward situation, Sharon turned sideways, pretending to look at herself critically in the mirror. Monica's hands dropped from her breasts, and she eased back half a step. Sharon was acutely aware that her face was flushed, but Monica seemed as cool and collected as always.

"My bum is too fat," she complained, ceasing on the first thought that entered her mind, and pulled at the seat of her panties.

"It is nothing of the sort," said Monica, and Sharon was surprised to hear a note of indignation in her voice. "I know women who'd kill for these." She patted one of Sharon's firm buttocks, in the process brushing away her hand again. She pulled a little on the panties, putting them straight again, and the feeling of her warm hands brushing her bum made Sharon's mouth go dry. Monica's hands went around her hips, straightening the waistline of her panties, then around to the front, doing the same. Sharon swallowed dryly, feeling her stomach flutter nervously. This must be what animals feel like when they're caught in the headlights of a car, some calm corner of her mind reflected.

Monica finished making adjustments to Sharon's lingerie, and for a moment they both stood there, perfectly still, as if frozen in time. Then Monica slid her hands tentatively up Sharon's belly. There was nothing businesslike in her touch now; this was a caress loaded with erotic significance. Sharon's mind was in turmoil. She knew that she could break the moment and end this if she moved, twisted away from Monica, and part of her wanted to do that. But there was another part of her that kept whispering in her mind: Don't you want to know what will happen if you don't move? And since not moving was, after all, the easier way, Sharon stood still as Monica's warm hands moved over her body.

Her left hand rubbing lightly in circles on Sharon's belly, Monica moved her right hand up to Sharon's breasts. For a moments Sharon could feel her hesitating, perhaps waiting for her to say or do something to stop her. When she didn't, the hand resumed moving, reaching across her body to cup her left breast. Sharon's heart was racing, and she gave an involuntary little gasp as the other woman's hand squeezed her breast gently. She could feel the heat of her hand right through the flimsy bra, and her nipple responded by stiffening. Monica tightened her arms, pulling Sharon to her, and the teenager could feel the older woman's breasts press against her back and her hips press against her bum.

Sharon's breath was becoming more rapid, her heart galloping madly. Looking to her left, she could see in the mirror how their bodies fitted together, soft flesh and curves pressing against each other. Monica's head dipped down, and the wet warmth of her mouth touched the side of Sharon's neck, soft lips teasing sensuously, seeking the spot where her pulse beat rapidly. Goosebumps were standing out all over Sharon's body, and she leaned a little farther back, deeper into Monica's embrace, and closed her eyes, surrendering control of the situation to the older woman.

Monica was now cupping both Sharon's breasts in her hands, her mouth kissing and sucking gently up and down along the side of her neck. She placed a finger under the girl's jaw, turning her face towards her until she could kiss her. To Sharon, the sensation of the brunette's lips on her own was electrifying. Her experience with kissing was limited to some nervous experimentation with boys at parties, where both they and she was at least slightly inebriated; this was something else entirely. Monica's lips brushed hers lightly once, then again, and again, lingering a little longer each time. The fourth time their lips met, Sharon tilted her head even further back and opened her mouth for Monica. The older woman's tongue slipped inside her mouth, not clumsy like the boys Sharon had kissed, but with purpose and experience.