Suck It Under the Dress

The dressing room light was ugly and Sable did not care.

She was thirty-three, halfway out of a black dress, cock already half hard under the hem because Owen had locked the door and looked at her like a man done being careful. He was forty. They had done this in her flat. They had not done it with a shop assistant twenty feet away and a curtain that did not reach the floor.

"If you kneel," she said, "you finish what you start. I'm not walking out of here aching."

"Red if either of us hears the wrong footsteps," he said.

"Agreed. Now get down there and suck my cock."

Owen went to his knees on the little square of carpet. Sable lifted the dress. Her cock thickened in his hand. He licked the underside, looked up, and took her into his mouth.

She had to bite her own wrist. He was hungry with it, fist at the base, lips wet, eyes on hers so she could see he was not performing tolerance. He was sucking her. The dress hem brushed his hair. Somewhere outside, a hanger scraped.

"Deeper," she whispered.

He took her deeper. Spit shone on his chin. Sable's hips jerked and he held her still with a hand on her thigh, which made it worse in the good way. She was close already. The risk and his mouth and the dress still on.

"I'm going to come," she said.

He nodded around her and stayed. She came in his mouth, pulses he swallowed, one hand in his hair, the other gripping the hook on the wall. Owen pulled off slowly, licked her clean, and smiled like a man who had got away with something.

"Your turn," she said. "Trousers. I want you in me before I lose the nerve."

He stood, opened his fly, and she turned to the mirror, dress bunched at her waist, and reached back to line him up. Lube from her bag. Two fingers. Then his cock, thick, pushing in while she watched her own face and her spent cock hanging under the dress.

"Fuck," she said. "Hard. Quiet."

He fucked her hard and quiet. The mirror knocked. Sable braced on it and took him, hole clenching, dress strap falling off one shoulder. Owen reached around and stroked her cock back to hardness while he moved. She came again, smaller, spilling over his fingers onto the carpet they would not be explaining. He followed with his mouth on her shoulder, buried, shaking.

They fixed the dress with hands that were not steady. Sable's mouth was red. Owen's was worse.

"We're buying it," she said. "I'm not giving them this curtain back with a clean conscience."

"Wear it home," he said. "I'll suck you again in the cab if you keep the hem where I can reach."

They did not rush the second time, which was worse. Owen knelt again and kissed the inside of her thigh before he took her cock back into his mouth, slower, filthier, one hand cupping her balls. Sable watched in the mirror. The dress was still on. Her lipstick was gone. His was on her shaft.

"You look good like that," she said. "A man with my cock in his mouth and a shop full of people who think we're arguing about a size."

He hummed and the hum nearly ended her. She pulled him off, turned, and bent. He pushed back into her and fucked her in short strokes, a hand over her mouth, the other stroking her cock under the dress. She came across the mirror's lower edge. He came inside her a moment later, biting the strap of the dress so he would not be loud.

They stood. Sable fixed her face with a tissue and failed. Owen tucked himself away and failed at looking innocent.

She looked at him in the ugly light.

The cab was a bad idea and they did it anyway. Sable kept the new dress on. Owen sat with his hand under the hem, stroking her cock in the dark while the driver talked about roadworks. She bit her lip and came in his fist at a red light, silent, shaking, and he licked his fingers when the car moved again.

At her flat she bent over the kitchen table and told him to fuck her with the dress still on. He did. No mirror this time. Just the dress, her cock in his hand, and the hard pace she asked for. She came again. He came inside her and stayed there, forehead between her shoulders, both of them laughing at the receipt still in the bag.

"Worth it," she said.

"Worth it," he said.

"Deal," she said.

In the morning the dress was on the chair and Sable's cock was hard against Owen's hip. She did not ask with a speech. She put his hand on it. He said yes into the pillow and stroked her until she came across his wrist, then rolled her over and fucked her slow, the dress ignored, the receipt still on the floor. She came a second time with her face in his neck. He came inside her and neither of them mentioned the shop.

Owen kept the promise he had made in the ugly light. On the sofa, dress hiked, he sucked her until she was shaking and then turned her over and fucked her while he stroked her cock in the same rhythm. Sable came in his fist. He came deep and stayed there, kissing the back of her neck, telling her the shop could keep the curtain. She told him to shut up and do it again after tea. He did.

Sable wore the dress to his flat on Friday and did not let him take it off until she had come in his mouth and he had come in her. The hem was a mess. She hung it on his door like a claim. He did not move it.