Breathtaking Burberry

It takes time to find the right fit. Burberry surely spent their time wisely. They came up with one of the definitive collections of latex-inclusive clothing.

E. C.

A New Day

Some days you wake up and just feel happy.

Dreamy Dior

Interrupting our continouing story for some dreamy Dior fashion shows...

Let us just worship their clarity.

E. C.

Story: Nightwatch Part Four

I reached for my uniform.

„Leave it,“ she said and headed for the lift. That was that for her. And for me. I obeyed, left my uniform and followed her in my cocktail dress, barefoot and trying to halt the light swinging of too short cloth over my too long body.

The short lift-ride was not less awkward than the moments before. But I felt even more trapped and exposed. The cabin was small and we had to stand close to each other. I tried to avoid her eyes. She looked me up and down. Looked away, seemed to be lost in thoughts for a second.

Abruptly she said „Back straight.“

Immediatly, my spine snapped straight. But I tried to keep my shoulders down so I would have a little more of the dress over my hips.

„Shoulders back.“

I obeyed. What else should I do? I fared well by obeying her. That was what I concluded after the ten seconds it took the lift from going from second to fourth. The hem of my dress still covered my hip area, she knew it would be long enough. But I felt even more exposed, at any minute, with any movement, the dress could ride up and expose my crotch or my ass. Uncomfortably, I kept my back straight as a stick and shoulders back like they were of stone and staggered behind the woman.

We sat down in the security office. A dim room of the size and allure of a broom closet. She told me to sit in the office chair in front of the four surveillance monitors. One was black. Second floor, ladies department.

She told me to face her. I turned the chair around. She closed the door behind her back. The air was getting stale fast, every sound was amplified and muffled at the same time. Her presence made the room crushingly small. I pulled at the dress to cover what I could of my thighs. At least I shaved today, zipped through my mind, with an awkward feeling right on this observations heels. I waited for her to say something. This definetly wasn't going to get over by me. I'd just shut up.

„Ok, here's the deal.“ She said, „Daddy... My father... Mr. Friedman – he's my father.“ She took a breath. Oddly enough her search for the right phrasing made me relax a little bit. The spell was somewhat broken. I could see her for the first time. She had blonde hair, open, flowing over her beige blazer. A fleeing chin and a boney nose proved that she really was the daughter of the old Mr Friedman. Her chin and nose didn't make her ugly. It made her intriguing to look at. Over all her dominating feature were her eyes.

She used them on me again. They impaled my mind.

„Point is, I'm your new boss.. Click play on that one“ She pointed with one of her red nails to a video player. I obeyed and started the recording, knowing what I would see. Shame and embarrasment pumped through my body. I looked on the screen only one second, than away. It was a surveillance recording from a new angle. I saw myself standing in he ladies department, still in my uniform, walking around, trying to decide what I would wear that night. I didn't want to see more, I knew what came next. I looked to the floor.

„I got suspicious when the camera malfunctioned almost every night. I got a new one and now I can get you fired... or much worse.“

Story: Nightwatch Part Three

Nightwatch (Part Three)

I turned around in shock. There was a woman standing there.

I could feel the lightness of my little cocktaildress. It was lighter than ever before. I felt incredibly naked.

She had here eyebrows raised, arms crossed. She wore one of the business outfits, I had tried on a couple of nights ago. Wide pants, beige, Max Mara. I didn't like the pantsuit then, personally, it felt akward, wearing womens clothes made to look masculine. But they definetly had a feminine touch, especially on her.

She put one hand on her hips and came toward me. She walked slowly and let her hips move from side to side. Her short steps were arousing me, I realised, they halted the shock induced softening of my raging hard-on from dressing up and it became rock solid again.

I tried to cover it up, pulling the hem of the dress down and forward. The dress was embarassingly short. I hoped that at least, she couldn't see the bugle in my underpants and held onto the hem of the dress. But when she came up to me, her face went from 'eyebrows raised' to 'lips pressed together in stern displeasure'. She looked up and straight at me. Her eyes were spears, slashing through my mind and holding me in place and pose. I couldn't move, speak or think. I just stood there, in shock, and waited.

She began to speak, but I couldn't listen. I heard her talk, but I couldn't understand. It was like I forgot English. The language part of my brain was crushed underneath a puling horniness, the all-commanding urge to cover my erection up, and an array of colours of no use at all other than to strangle any coherent thought that tried to stick it's head out to hear what other ideas thought of it's newest plan for action.

I saw her perfectly manicured fingers in front of my eyes. A shimmering red thumbnail dug itself into the tip of her middlefinger. A loud snap. The noise pierced the bubble of colours in my mind, blowing it up and freed the language part.

„You are not very responsive to unforseen events, are you Mr. Nightwatch, huh?“

I couldn't guess wether she was angry at me or mocking me. I definetly invited abuse. What did she want? What should I do?

„Say something, Mr Watchman.“, she waved her arms around. „Anything!“

„You're from … the Friedmans. Management?“ I managed to say something. Finally, some action on my part.

„Oh, you have such a deep voice, Mr Watchman.“ She put her hands on her chest, acting surprised. She used her arms and hands a lot when she talked. Her face moved very little. Her nails were beautifully done indeed, I noticed again. She took her hands away again. And pointed to the lift.

„Better keep your mouth shut and follow me, your future is on the line here, and you aren't dressed for it.“

Story: Nightwatch Part Two

Nigthwatch (Part Two)

I took the dress off the mannequin. The fabric of the dress felt smooth and real. I let my fingers run over it. Then I remembered I had to take off my uniform first. I glanced at the camera hanging from the ceiling. I trunt it of ten minutes ago. Malfunction. Happens sometimes. The red light was out. So I undressed. In my underpants and my new shaven skin I stood there trying to remember to breath. I grabbed the dress and lowered it over my head.

It fell perfectly. I zipped it's back. It hugged my waist. I smoohed it down over my legs. I never knew that there was something in this world which could give me such a feeling. This dress felt different, titghter than any clothes I ever wore before. It felt snug and seamless. One piece from my shoulders to my ankles, when I moved my shoulder or one foot or one arm I could feel the fabric slide over my body like solid water.

I had a raging erection. My penis pressed hard against the inside of my underpants. I took a few deep breaths. In and out. Then I began to walk through the department. Long Dresses and soft skirts to the left of me, elegant blouses and tops to the right and my dress sliding over my thighs, every step tense and shaky. My hands tried to get even more of this wonderful feeling of being inclosed and caress by something fluid. I wanted to feel it from the inside and from the outside. I wanted it all over me.

A sigh brought me back to what I was doing. But it wasn't a call to reality. Reality was this incredible feeling of this dress. No, I snapped back into this mode of observing, one inch removed from my body. What was I doing? Did I just sigh? Did this dress make me so horny I sound like a porn actress? And than came the killing question: What kind of pervert am I?

Hot shame got a hold of me. Was I the kind of guy that will sneak into shady, cheap hotel rooms, carrying a briefcase, eager to spend the night in ladies underwear, while my future wife will think I had to work late, but I was just a pervert who could only get it up wearing a garter belt and high heels?

I rushed back to my pile of work clothes and the naked mannequin. The fluid feeling of the dress rushing over my thighs was now soiled by guilt. What did I do? That's not me. I'm a man. What if someone saw me?

My face was red hot as I fumbled with the zipper and stepped out of the dress. I put my uniform back on and hastly pulled the dress over the mannequin. Then I just stood there for a while. Everything was back to normal, I told myself.

But the coming nights of course proved me wrong. I didn't put the dress back on the next night. But I had to push my desire to do so back down. I knew the dress felt good on me – not only good but great, fantastic, right. Nothing was back to normal.

I had to put it on again. I couldn't sleep and when I did, I dreamed of the white smoothness flowing over my body. Since my puberty I never came when I slept. But after this fateful night I put on the dress I had several times when I woke up, feeling cold and sticky cum in my pants. My body told me I had to wear it again. I received the message and only held back to satisfy my inner observing, judging eye that it was wrong what I did. After all, it was 'Friedmans Finest' dress, not mine. But they will never know. I took care of the cameras.

My second time wearing the dress was as exciting as the first time. I wore it longer, nearly my hole shift I spent in the ladies department. Occasionally I imagined someone breaking into Friedmans Finest the first time after 50 years and finding the night watchman in a wedding dress. But I didn't think about it too long. Nobody robs a clothing store at night. Clothing stores get robbed when they are open, by school skipping teens and thrill seeking housewifes. One guy from the security of one of the daytime shift, he called himself a 'detective', once told me for the shoplifters it wasn't about money but an inner urge to steal. That was an issue for the daytime shifts, never mine.

Then I suddenly realised that what I was doing was technically stealing. I grinned and blushed. Well, basically, I said to myself, I'm not taking anything, I was merely using them and putting it back in perfect order. Just trying it on, that's all.

Many nights of trying on ladies clothes of 'Friedmans Finest' followed. I tried on everything, from business costumes to evening gowns. But I never put on ladies underwear. And my feet were slightly too big for ladies shoes. So I galavanted around 'Friedmans Finest' barefoot, night after night. It were the best nights of my life.

Then, one night, I had just put on a very light and very short cocktail dress, I heard a "Hrmhrm" behind me. I froze.

End of Part Two

Story: Nightwatch Part One

This is the first part of the first story I upload here. I don't know how many parts it will have. I let it write itself.

Nightwatch 

The job of a night watchman is a great job for a student. Its pays decent money and you can do your homework in between your rounds. The biggest plus for me was that I was alone.

My job was to sit around in the surveillance room of the popular 'Friedmans Finest' clothing store and call the cops if anyone broke in and try to steal one of Friedmans finest dresses. Of course nobody ever tried to do that since the 1960s. My shifts were boring to say the least. So boring infact that I decided, I could try to spice things up a bit.

I've always been curious. And if you combine curiousity with too much time and noone around you try odd things.

The mannequin which was placed right at the entrance to the ladies department wore a dress that always caught my eye when I walked past it, doing my rounds. It was long, sleak and shiny white and probably part of the wedding fashion collection. I don't know what it was that caught me. Maybe it was that it didn't have frilly stuff all over it. The dress was one simple, elegant column. It took several nights walking past it for me to even realize that I loved this dress. And it took even more time for me to acknowledge what I wanted to do.

Of course, as a boy I never even thought that I would sometime in the future think what I thought the more often I saw this dress. But inside me a fire began to crackle and burn its way through second thoughts and all reasonability. I wanted to wear this dress.

I don't remember the moment I decided what I wanted to do. I probably didn't want to think about it too much. It certainly wasn't a beam of light shining down on me, ripping through my guts, changing everything I ever thought and done. I didn't stand there mouth open, the torch slipping through my fingers and I didn't start ripping of my square-in-every-way uniform at the sound of the torch crashing on the floor. It was a slowly developing hot burn which formed a small knot in my chest, but I didn't notice it until the night I stood in front of the dress, prepared to take it off the mannequin.

I think I prepared for it very methodically. I knew that I couldn't put my hairy body in this dress, so I knew I had to shave. For the first time in my live I shaved my legs, again without much thinking about it. It was just a thing I had to do. I observed myself shaving like I was an inch removed from my own body. Having smooth skin was a weird but great feeling. Every movement felt different. When I put on my uniform I felt the thin synthetic fabric of the pants. I was surpised that there was a

completely different feel to everything when I walked to 'Friedmans Finest'. It seemed I could feel the soft evening wind inside my legs. My excitement grew.

Anticipation builds up differently in different situations. I didn't realize how much I wanted to wear this dress. I didn't get why my fingers began to tremble like I had a disease. My best guess is, that I didn't want to reflect on what wearing a dress meant for myself as a guy. The circumstances, that I did it in a more or less open space and with property of the Friedman family would have been enough to get shaky knees anyway. So I just prepared for it, shaved and took care of the cameras for the night and at two in the morning went to the second floor and stood infront of the dress, mouth dry and clenched fists, shaking.