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Archive name: dresroom.txt (M-voy/F-solo, voy)
Authors name: Tissot (Anonymous)
Story title : Dressing Room, The

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Copyright 1997 Tissot. Distribute freely, but only with 
attributing authorship to Tissot.

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The Dressing Room (M-voy/F-solo, voy)
By Tissot (Anonymous)

***

She enters her dressing room, probably having just rushed 
in from running some errands. She looks warm -- this is 
southern Texas, after all and somewhat harried. It is 
sometime after three in the afternoon. She must've 
decided on a quick shower to clean up before returning to 
her office. You see, I had, as is my habit, my vice, come 
to my in-laws' house at this hour in the knowledge that 
it would be unattended.

I had been upstairs in my mother-in-law's dressing room, 
immersed in a world of feminine odors and caresses, a 
familiar place, when I heard the door to her car and 
quick footsteps on the back steps. Jolted from my 
reverie, I bolted for the darkness under her bed, seeking 
sanctuary.

Eschewing the lights in her haste, she sits down in the 
chair I have only so recently vacated. I wonder if she 
notices its relative warmth in the coolness of the room. 
She gives no sign of it. She makes a call to her 
secretary, explaining that she has been delayed and 
asking about her messages. While on the phone, she 
quickly begins to unbutton her blouse. From her half of 
the conversation, though, it seems that her absence has 
not been noticed by anyone. Moreover, her four o'clock 
meeting appears to have been canceled.

Hanging up the telephone, she takes deep breath, visibly 
relaxing. Her blouse is unbuttoned, hanging slightly 
open. Apparently deciding to take her time, she leans 
back in the chair and shuts her eyes. Through the semi-
darkness, I watch her blouse fall open as she reclines. 
Her breasts, encased by her bra, are small, very petite. 
To see them in their entirety and at my leisure, not 
stolen with a furtive glance catches my breath.

Reaching up to run her hands through her graying hair, I 
notice again the beauty of her breasts and the increasing 
stiffness of her nipples. In my inner heat, I had 
forgotten the coolness of this room. 

Having satiated some appetite, renewed, she sits up and 
completely removes her blouse. She seems to be staring 
off into a space directly in front of her, but then I 
recall the mirror there. She must be studying her figure. 
Reaching up behind her, she unclasps the bra, removing it 
leisurely. Still looking at the mirror, she studies her 
breasts in the semi-darkness. Her hands lift themselves 
from the darkness, beginning to caress the regal chest. 
They are regal, I think, stately. No buxom garishness, 
but elegance.

Her eyes close again, this time, however, losing herself 
in sensual sanctuary from the heat outside. Her hands 
continue their exploration with what is, it seems to me, 
a certain familiarity. Is this a common occurrence, I 
wonder? Just then, her mouth parts slightly, seeming to 
betray a pleasure. 

Finished, apparently, she stands, reaching to unbutton 
her skirt. Clutching one corner, the fabric, having been 
wrapped around her, falls down and around her legs. What 
remains, then, is pale illicitness encased in white. My 
thoughts reel with this first glimpse. Her legs, long and 
slender, flow up in defiance of gravity, some unlikely 
wave of sculpted marble, culminating in enticing 
roundness. Standing there in nothing but heels and hose, 
she pauses again to gaze into the mirror, probing, 
judging herself. I think I haven't breathed in some time, 
wanting only to watch.

Turing herself away from me, she stretches, reaching for 
her toes, apparently to work out the kinks wrought by a 
hectic schedule. In doing so, I am presented with an 
amazing sight: there, encased in white pantyhose is her 
backside. Through the darkness, I think I can make out 
another darkness between the slightly parted legs. 
Nothing more, though, for almost as soon as she reached 
her toes, it seems, she straightens and stretches her 
arms to the ceiling. To be on the other side, to witness, 
to take in!

Lowering her arms, she tucks her thumbs under the 
waistband of the hose and, bend over slightly, she pulls 
the nylon down to her calves. Only just briefly do I 
catch sight of the hair between her legs before she sits 
to fully remove the material. Then, turning toward my 
hiding place, I see, for the first time her completeness. 
He nether region is encased in a moderate forest of dark 
hairs mingling with silver ones. Beautiful. More than I 
had imagined, she is breathtaking, inspiring.

Occasionally, I have found in this place what must have 
haled from this very mass, dark hairs and silver ones. 
But here, not ten feet away, is the object of my most 
moving fantasies. 

Fear, desire, and elation seem to spiral up within me, 
amassing, forming a triple helix, initially distinct in 
its elements, but merging, swirling into a single strand 
of pulsing emotion, a cyclone to steal my breath. My 
vision blurs, succumbing to this thing beyond thought. I 
hear her movements, taking her away, but I cannot see.

In a stay from what must be a caring God, I explode in 
moans and effluence just as the shower comes to life with 
splashing noise. My mind clearing, I regain my sight to 
find she has left the dressing room, apparently working 
her way deeper into these ostensibly private area, 
seeking the cool of water. 

Thankful I was not discovered under her bed, I crawl out 
and head for the door. As I descend the stairs as quietly 
as I can, I feel the initial warmth in my shorts 
beginning to fade and cool. There's likely a huge stain 
of wetness, but I concentrate on my exit. Out the door, 
around the block to the retail parking lot, I reach my 
car.

As I drive away, my knees begin to shake, but I know I 
will be back.

END

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 19