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MMS – Chapter 7 – Dress-up

by | mms | 0 comments

Marcy came in with that same power she always had, as if she owned the place and had forgotten she bought something so distasteful. She looked at me like I was an oddity, like she was still trying to figure out what all the fuss was about.

She was carrying a few shopping bags in one hand and dragging a dry cleaning bag in the other.

“Don’t just stand there, take this!” she exclaimed, holding out the bags to me. “What are you? An 8? Maybe 6ish of you skip lunch? More like an 8. I got this dress from my cousin. I haven’t been anywhere near that big since high school.”

She looked down at Eloise who had stopped knitting and was looking at Marcy with slack-jawed awe. Marcy didn’t acknowledge her.

“Well, for a mousy girl, you have plenty of tits and ass, don’t you?” she said looking at my chest. “We have some lovely natural resources to work with. Plus, you’re still twenty-two, so everything still stands up tall and proud no matter what.”

Eloise’s eyes nearly fell out as be looked over at me.

I rushed over and took all the bags and scurried to my room hoping that Ms. Peterson would follow. She did, at a decidedly slow pace. When we got to the room, I put the bags on the bed and closed the door. Ms. Peterson stood looked at me with and ponderous face, as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle. She was fingering her bottom lip as Sherlock Holmes would play with his pipe.

Marcy picked up her purse and giving me a rather stern gaze pulled out a small silver case. From it, she took a small, expensive looking pair of reading glasses and slipped them on. Walking up to me, I backed up as I always seemed to do around her. I found myself sitting on the bed as she moved in closer.

“Well, your skin isn’t bad,” she said, roughly pinched my cheeks. “And your hair is-well-alright your hair is pretty bad, but we can do something with it.”

She stood in front of me and pulled my hair back, looking at me from different angles. I didn’t know what to do with my arms. I folded my hands in my lap. She was so close, and there was that smell again. Expensive perfume.

“Ok, let’s see if this fits,” she said, suddenly on me and pulling at my clothes.

“Ms. Peterson?”

She pulled me up, almost ripping my old greenhouse dress. Then she was pulling my dress off.

“Ms. Peterson!”

She stopped and folded her arms in front of her chest.

“Yes, Abigail? That is my name. Would you like to add something to it? Is there something you want to let me know?”

Her voice was sarcastic and cruel. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what she was going to do.

“I-um,” I didn’t know what to say.

“I am disrobing you so that we can get you dressed. Would you like me to stop?”

I looked down, feeling foolish.

“No, Ms. Peterson,” I said quietly.

She got my dress off. I sat there in my old bra and panties. I saw myself in the mirror, and I looked miserable.

“I brought underthings too. A nice bra and panty set. Everything starts with the foundation, Abigail. I brought a few sizes -” she cupped my breasts suddenly, and I let out a squeal.

“Ms. Peterson!”

She sighed deeply.

“Yes, Abigail?”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m not used to getting changed in front of someone. Um, continue,” I squeaked.

She waited a moment and then sternly nodded.

“Very well. What are you? 36C? Around that. We can give old Jake a show.” She reached behind me and unhooked my bra pulling it off. I lifted my hands, though I’m not sure if it was to help her or stop her and she slapped them away.

“Well. You look a bit different out of that ratty dress.” her eyes made me blush.

I lifted my arm to cover myself, and she slapped them down. Then she reached up and cupped one of my breasts again, sort of measuring the small weight of it.

I whispered a hissing “Ms. Peterson!”

Her eyes darkened. “That is my name, Abigail. Do you have something to say to me? Do you want to say ‘no’? Is that it? Then tell me no, Abigail.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I started, not sure what I was apologizing for.

She laughed at me and spun me around so that we were both looking in the mirror. There was a new shock and embarrassment of seeing myself in nothing but panties with a fully dressed Marcy Peterson.

“Look up, Abigail. Do you have any idea what you’re looking at?” she whispered in my ear.

I shook my head. I felt like I was going to cry.

“You may try desperately to hide it, Abigail, but under those frumpy dresses and that tragic hairdo, you are a lovely girl. I’m not the only one who sees it either. The boys in your office may not have the keen eyes to notice, but I know the men do. Jake certainly did, watching you like a little rosebud in his garden, waiting until you started blossoming enough to pluck you,” he said with a growl of a laugh.

She put her fingers on my chin and made me look at myself.

The thought of Mr. McIntyre noticing me made a smile bloom on me that I fought to hide.

“Abigail, do you think I am a woman who knows what beauty looks like?”

I nodded. She wore beautiful things. She did beautiful things, she was from a wealthy family that sold beautiful things.

“And do I seem like someone who would say something just to make you feel better?” she asked with snideness dripping from the last words.

I shook my head, no.

“Well, Abigail, what I see in this mirror is a breathtaking young woman. Perhaps a bit shy and unfamiliar with the ways of the world I live in, but lovely and eager and curious and obviously very loyal. But most of all I see a beautiful woman,” she said, her voice growing soothing and kind.

I looked at myself. I wasn’t vain, but there was a part of me that felt beautiful, that thought I was pretty, but then there were so many other parts of me that disagreed, that found flaws, that chided me and kept me in most nights.

Looking in the mirror, at Ms. Peterson’s beautiful face and then mine, the differences didn’t seem so great. I wondered with makeup and hair like hers, we might be close to sisters. She was gorgeous.

As I continued to look, her hand crept up my stomach. I watched as I involuntarily sucked in my belly. Her hand moved up until her red nails were just under my right breast. I could actually see my nipple hardening.

“Like you, I’m a very perceptive person, Abigail. I know how much you like it that Jake sent me here. That my fingers are just a proxy for his,” she whispered as her hand moved up and cupped my breast.

“Jake knows too. He sent me here to bring you a pretty dress and do your makeup, but for other reasons too. He wanted me to make sure you could say no. Do you understand what that means?”

I didn’t. I didn’t really understand anything except a beautiful woman’s hand was on my breast. I was looking into my own eyes in the mirror as she touched me.

“You need to know how to say yes and how to say no. You are going to be put in very particular situations, and we need to be sure you know your boundaries,” she explained as her hand squeezed my breast.

I saw my back arch against her. The red of her lips. The way her fingers closed around my nipple, almost touching it, but just staying at the edge. Her other hand moved to my stomach, holding me still.

“Abigail, do you like my hand on your breast?” she asked with a dark little chuckle.

“Um, I-I don’t know,” I mumbled.

I didn’t know what to say. My thoughts were moving fast and bumping into each other.

“No?” she asked.

“It’s- nice,” I said.

How could it be so hard to say the word nice?

“Can I touch your nipple, Abigail,” she asked into my ear, the warmth of her breath on my neck.

“Yes please,” I said, though it felt like some part of my brain took over for a second.

She chuckled at my wantonness, and I felt my face heat up even more.

Then her soft fingers were on my hard sensitive nipples, and I could see her red nails against my private places in the mirror, and it was starting to become too much.

She pinched my nipple a little, in that way that I did when I was alone, that way that helped me get off and somehow she knew.

“Oh! Oh my, Ms. Peterson! Please,” I whined.

She laughed loudly. “Please! Please, what? Please more?”

I didn’t know what please meant. I just wanted more.

In the mirror, I saw her other hand moving down from my stomach, and I froze. Her red nail down to pink cotton. Down to a place where only I and a few overly fresh dates had ever touched.

My mouth opened. I wanted to stop her. Didn’t I? I just had to say it.

“May I, Abigail? Mr. McIntyre asked me to measure you, get the feel of your body, make sure you were ready. So may I?” she said, her fingers at the edge of my belly button.

I swallowed.

“Yes,” I whispered.


Her delicate fingers slipped right into my panties. Then I couldn’t speak or look at her. Her hands knew my every secret. They knew what no one ever knew. She knew my every button and how to push them. I didn’t even know how it happened so fast, but my body was racing. Her fingers were somehow wet. Could it be from me? Could I be that wet already?

Then her finger was inside of me, and I was gripping her shoulder. Just one finger was already too much for me. Then back to that spot, that treacherous spot. So close. I imagined her stopping then, suddenly. It seems like what she would do that wicked woman, but she didn’t and then everything was lightning behind my eyes and my gasps echoing against the walls of my little room.

As my body fell back to Earth, her voice became honeyed.

“Lovely. I don’t think we will need that blush, will we dear. You’ll be bright red all day.”

Then that wicked hand of her moved around me, down to do something I couldn’t imagine! Down behind me! She was about to touch my rear!

“Ms. Peterson! N- No!”

And she was off me. Like that. Her face radiating with a dark smile.

“Ah, good. You do know how to say it,” she said, stepping back from me.

“Things are going to happen around Mr. McIntyre, Abigail. I have to make sure you know what you can and can’t handle, and you know how to say no when you don’t want something.”

Her eyes were on mine as she brought her hand up and inhaling deeply, her eye closing as she groaned. Then her fingers went to her mouth and sucked the top of each finger. She looked back at me, a little shaken that I saw her lose her cool for a moment.

“Let’s wash you up, Abigail. It’s going to be a long day.”

She handed me my housedress, and I slipped it on, then we left my room and went into the bathroom. From the corner of my eye, I saw Eloise, her eyes almost bigger than her glasses, sitting there in shock. A ball of thread fallen to the floor and still rolling away.

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