of lips, Missy, but there’s no need to stand there with them hanging open like that. Remind me of your name again?’
‘Moana.’
‘Ah yes, I remember now. A unique name to suit a unique girl. Mo-ah-na,’ she enunciated, copying me breathily, lengthening the A as it should be. I hated when people called me
Mo-anna. ‘And why are you standing there half dressed, Moana?’
‘We were trying on a change of style. These trousers would be darling on her, don’t you agree?’
Patch held up the hanger. I wished that the ground would open and swallow me. No doubt, just as I had begun to get excited about the idea of some extra responsibilities at the theatre, the job
would be taken away from me since I couldn’t even run a simple errand without getting distracted.
‘Oh, how rude of me, Patch, lovely to see you of course.’
Clarissa leaned forward and kissed Patricia on each cheek, awkwardly sandwiching me between them as she did so. I smelled their perfumes mingling, or maybe it was just the scent of their skin.
Clarissa’s was somehow dark, and musky, like the earth in a rose garden after a hot storm, part dank and dirt and part floral, humming with life. Patch’s was light and citrus, lemon
sugar. I imagined being wrapped between them in bed and how it would feel to have a wet pussy pressing against my ass and another against my cunt. Two pairs of hands caressing my body.
My breathing quickened, and I felt certain that my thoughts were printed all over the portrait of my stiff limbs.
Greeting complete, Clarissa picked up the trousers.
‘You’re right of course, Patch, they’re just the thing.’ She pulled them off the hanger and dropped down to her haunches in front of me, her face passing just a few
inches away from my opening. I could feel myself becoming damp, there. Perhaps visibly so, and I was thankful that my knickers were cheap, thick cotton and not a thin, expensive ribbon of silk that
might have looked obviously wet. I wondered if Clarissa could smell me, if she liked that smell in the same way that I loved the smell of Iris, and her taste.
She held the trousers open as if I were a child and I stepped in, one foot at a time, and placed my hands lightly on her shoulders for balance as she dragged them up over my calves, thighs and
hips. She ducked her head to my waist to fasten them and I felt the warmth of her breath travel over my belly. I sighed.
Clarissa stepped back and looked me up and down, reviewing her handiwork. Patch joined her. Both of them, appraising me.
‘Good, I think,’ Patch said. ‘She just needs some heels.’
‘Yes, heels, definitely,’ Clarissa added, ‘and also, I think, something else with her hair . . .’
She stepped forward and ran her hands through my limp locks, first pulling my hair up and back and then over to the side, each time leaning away to view the result.
‘Wonderful,’ she breathed, but didn’t say which look she preferred. ‘We’ll take them. The trousers.’
‘What?’ I cried, flustered and embarrassed. ‘Oh no, I could never afford anything like these,’ I said. I didn’t even know what they cost, but since I couldn’t
even afford ordinary clothes I knew that something designer would be laughably out of my budget.
‘Nonsense,’ Clarissa said, ‘they’re perfect for you. Patch will add them to my tab, and I’ll think of a way that you can earn them back. An end-of-year bonus,
perhaps.’ She winked at me, kissed me lightly on one cheek and then took hold of my waist again, unbuttoning the clasp and pulling the slacks down to my feet, where I obediently stepped out
of them, trying hard to maintain my balance and finding myself half-naked once more.
She handed Patricia the silky black bundle.
‘Would you wrap this in tissue, darling, and add it to my bill, while we gather up all the samples?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Patch nodded smoothly.
I touched my hand to my face. My cheek was still burning where Clarissa’s
‘Moana.’
‘Ah yes, I remember now. A unique name to suit a unique girl. Mo-ah-na,’ she enunciated, copying me breathily, lengthening the A as it should be. I hated when people called me
Mo-anna. ‘And why are you standing there half dressed, Moana?’
‘We were trying on a change of style. These trousers would be darling on her, don’t you agree?’
Patch held up the hanger. I wished that the ground would open and swallow me. No doubt, just as I had begun to get excited about the idea of some extra responsibilities at the theatre, the job
would be taken away from me since I couldn’t even run a simple errand without getting distracted.
‘Oh, how rude of me, Patch, lovely to see you of course.’
Clarissa leaned forward and kissed Patricia on each cheek, awkwardly sandwiching me between them as she did so. I smelled their perfumes mingling, or maybe it was just the scent of their skin.
Clarissa’s was somehow dark, and musky, like the earth in a rose garden after a hot storm, part dank and dirt and part floral, humming with life. Patch’s was light and citrus, lemon
sugar. I imagined being wrapped between them in bed and how it would feel to have a wet pussy pressing against my ass and another against my cunt. Two pairs of hands caressing my body.
My breathing quickened, and I felt certain that my thoughts were printed all over the portrait of my stiff limbs.
Greeting complete, Clarissa picked up the trousers.
‘You’re right of course, Patch, they’re just the thing.’ She pulled them off the hanger and dropped down to her haunches in front of me, her face passing just a few
inches away from my opening. I could feel myself becoming damp, there. Perhaps visibly so, and I was thankful that my knickers were cheap, thick cotton and not a thin, expensive ribbon of silk that
might have looked obviously wet. I wondered if Clarissa could smell me, if she liked that smell in the same way that I loved the smell of Iris, and her taste.
She held the trousers open as if I were a child and I stepped in, one foot at a time, and placed my hands lightly on her shoulders for balance as she dragged them up over my calves, thighs and
hips. She ducked her head to my waist to fasten them and I felt the warmth of her breath travel over my belly. I sighed.
Clarissa stepped back and looked me up and down, reviewing her handiwork. Patch joined her. Both of them, appraising me.
‘Good, I think,’ Patch said. ‘She just needs some heels.’
‘Yes, heels, definitely,’ Clarissa added, ‘and also, I think, something else with her hair . . .’
She stepped forward and ran her hands through my limp locks, first pulling my hair up and back and then over to the side, each time leaning away to view the result.
‘Wonderful,’ she breathed, but didn’t say which look she preferred. ‘We’ll take them. The trousers.’
‘What?’ I cried, flustered and embarrassed. ‘Oh no, I could never afford anything like these,’ I said. I didn’t even know what they cost, but since I couldn’t
even afford ordinary clothes I knew that something designer would be laughably out of my budget.
‘Nonsense,’ Clarissa said, ‘they’re perfect for you. Patch will add them to my tab, and I’ll think of a way that you can earn them back. An end-of-year bonus,
perhaps.’ She winked at me, kissed me lightly on one cheek and then took hold of my waist again, unbuttoning the clasp and pulling the slacks down to my feet, where I obediently stepped out
of them, trying hard to maintain my balance and finding myself half-naked once more.
She handed Patricia the silky black bundle.
‘Would you wrap this in tissue, darling, and add it to my bill, while we gather up all the samples?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Patch nodded smoothly.
I touched my hand to my face. My cheek was still burning where Clarissa’s
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