Peter kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his grip on the steering wheel betrayed the calm facade he tried to maintain. The hum of the engine filled the otherwise silent car, a low murmur that mirrored the undercurrent of tension thickening the space between him and Claudia. She sat quietly beside him, the box containing the dress resting gently in her lap. Her fingers trailed along the edges of the tissue paper inside, delicate, thoughtful, and unintentional in their elegance.
Peter swallowed hard. Every time his gaze flicked toward the box, the images from the boutique flooded his mind again—the way the older man had commanded the room, the quiet yet undeniable authority in his voice. He had watched Claudia transform under the weight of those words. She looked radiant. More than radiant. Stunning in a way that made Peter question everything he thought he knew about her and himself.
Yet, beneath that admiration lurked something else. A twisted knot of pride and jealousy tangled together in his chest. He had never been the type to step back, to let another man dictate the way Claudia dressed, spoke, or moved. But in that boutique, he had relinquished control, mesmerized by how effortlessly the older man had taken charge. And what haunted Peter most was that it excited him.
His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. The memory replayed like a loop. The man’s hand hovering just behind Claudia’s lower back as she stepped out of the dressing room. His lingering gaze as she turned in front of the mirror. Peter had stood there, watching, wanting to interrupt but unable to find a reason that didn’t feel weak. Claudia hadn’t resisted. She had embraced it. And Peter had let it happen.
His eyes drifted toward Claudia again. Her expression was calm, serene even, but Peter could see the faintest smirk playing on her lips as she continued to trace the box’s edges. Did she know what she was doing to him? Did she realize how tightly that moment still gripped him? He doubted it. Or perhaps he hoped she didn’t.
When they finally pulled into the driveway, Peter didn’t turn off the engine right away. The soft rumble of the car seemed to hold them both in place. He sat motionless, staring through the windshield at the house as if stepping inside would somehow shatter the fragile silence between them. Claudia shifted beside him, but neither of them made the first move to exit.
After a lingering moment, Peter sighed softly and pressed the button to kill the engine. The hum faded into quiet, leaving only the faint rustle of Claudia’s fingers brushing the tissue paper as she gathered the box to her chest.
Their walk to the front door felt heavier than usual. The house greeted them in its familiar stillness, yet the intimacy of the day followed them inside, seeping into the walls, the floorboards, the very air they breathed.
Peter watched as Claudia set the box down on the kitchen counter. She leaned against it, crossing her arms loosely over her chest, her gaze flickering toward him. He met her eyes briefly but looked away, pretending to busy himself with his keys.
“So…” Claudia finally broke the silence, her voice soft but charged. “That was… something.”
Peter let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It really was.”
His response felt lacking, but he didn’t trust himself to say more. He could still hear the older man’s voice echoing in his mind, those deliberate words meant to shape Claudia. The way she had responded, willingly and beautifully, left Peter in unfamiliar territory.
He could feel the weight of her eyes, waiting, expecting something—perhaps a reflection of what she felt herself. Peter shifted his weight, running a hand through his hair.
Finally, Claudia broke the quiet. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Her voice was soft but firm. She didn’t look directly at him, instead focusing on the box on the kitchen counter.
Peter inhaled slowly, knowing the question had been inevitable. He thought back to the moment in the fitting room—the old man’s calm, authoritative voice, Claudia’s subtle but unmistakable response to his direction. It had stirred something primal, but there was more beneath it.
“I… I guess I didn’t feel like I needed to,” Peter replied honestly, his voice low. “It was strange, I won’t lie. But at the same time… it felt like he knew what he was doing. I didn’t want to get in the way.”
Claudia glanced up at him, finally meeting his gaze. “Get in the way?” Her lips curved slightly, but there was no humor behind it—only curiosity, maybe even disbelief. “He was talking about my underwear, Peter. About what I should be wearing in front of you and shouldn’t be anyone else’s business but me and you.”
“I know,” Peter admitted, pushing himself off the counter to stand straighter. He stepped closer, keeping his eyes steady on hers. “But you seemed… different. More confident. I didn’t want to interrupt that.”
Claudia’s brow furrowed, but Peter noticed the faint flush coloring her cheeks. She looked down again, running her hand along the box’s edge.
“It was just… unexpected,” she murmured. “You usually wouldn’t let something like that slide. I thought you’d be uncomfortable.”
“I was,” Peter confessed. “At first. But I kept watching you, and I saw how much you liked it. It was hard to step in when you didn’t seem to want me to.”
Claudia’s fingers stilled on the box, and Peter swore he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Her eyes flickered to him once more, something unreadable behind them.
“I guess I did,” she admitted after a pause, her voice softer now. “It was different for me too. I didn’t think I’d like it as much as I did.”
Peter nodded slowly. There it was—the first thread of honesty unraveling between them. Even if neither of them fully acknowledged the heat still lingering, the words were enough to pull them closer to the truth.
He took a step forward, leaning in slightly. “He wasn’t wrong, though.”
Claudia arched a brow. “About what?”
Peter’s eyes shifted briefly to the box, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “You did look incredible in that dress.”
The flush in Claudia’s cheeks deepened, but she didn’t pull away. “Well, it’s in the closet now.”
The air between them shifted, heavier now but not uncomfortable. Peter watched as Claudia picked up the box, holding it carefully against her chest.
“I’m going to take a bath,” she said quietly, brushing past him with a lingering glance.
Peter nodded, following her with his eyes as she disappeared down the hall toward their bedroom.
After several seconds, he forced his feet to move. As he approached the bedroom, he saw the faint glow of light slipping beneath the doorframe. The door was ajar, and Peter lingered there quietly, watching through the small crack as Claudia unwrapped the dress, carefully lifting it from the box with a reverence that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. The soft rustling of fabric filled the room, broken only by the faint sigh she released as she ran her fingers along the sleek satin.
Peter remained still, half-hidden by the doorway, as Claudia gently hung the dress in their closet. She stood there for a long moment, admiring it. His gaze dropped to the box she had placed on their dresser, noticing the smaller, delicate package inside—the panties.
Claudia lifted the tiny, nearly transparent garment from the box, turning it over in her hands. Peter’s breath caught as she folded them carefully, almost tenderly, before she left the bedroom with them in her hands. As she moved toward the bathroom, she noticed Peter watching her, his gaze lingering. A slight flush crept into her cheeks, and she felt the sudden urge to explain herself. “I’m just taking them to the laundry,” she said, glancing back at him with a small, almost coy smile. “I need to wash them before I can wear them.”
Peter returned to the living room, sinking into the couch with a sigh. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, the weight of the day settling in his chest. The line between admiration and arousal blurred further with each passing thought. But even as he sat there, staring into the quiet darkness of their home, Peter knew this wasn’t something either of them could simply let go of.
As the sound of the bathroom door shutting echoed faintly through the house, Peter remained rooted in place, staring at the now-empty kitchen. His pulse thrummed faintly, the weight of their exchange still buzzing beneath his skin.
The boutique owner’s voice echoed faintly in his memory. “Most men would find it quite attractive if a woman’s nipples were slightly visible through a dress like this.”
Peter swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. His eyes darted to the bathroom door, listening for any sound beyond the hum of the water running.
Was she really just taking a bath, or was Claudia just as aroused as he was?
He stayed still for a while longer, but the weight of that question eventually pulled him to his feet. Quietly, he approached the bathroom door, careful to keep his movements silent.
Peter’s breath hitched.
Was that a sigh?
Claudia’s flushed expression in the boutique, the way she shifted under the older man’s gaze, played on repeat in his mind.
His hand drifted lower, pressing against the growing ache in his pants. He clenched his jaw, torn between guilt and the overwhelming desire to make himself cum to the thought of this experience.
Peter crept closer to the bathroom door, his bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. His breath slowed. He stood there for a moment, trying to separate the soft rush of the tub filling from anything more… deliberate. His heart pounded harder when he leaned in, pressing his ear against the door, feeling the faint vibrations of water through the wood.
A few seconds passed, and just as he was about to pull away, there it was—so quiet he almost thought he imagined it. A breath. No… not just a breath. The slightest, trembling exhale, carrying the unmistakable edge of pleasure. He held still, ears straining, desperate to hear more. Another exhale followed, drawn out a little longer, and this time the whimper escaped, unrestrained and impossible to miss.
Peter pressed his head to the door, letting his eyes fall shut, picturing her inside—knees pulled up, her hand moving over her body, slowly unwinding from whatever restraint she’d held onto since they left the boutique. His cock throbbed as he imagined the arch of her back, her head tilting as she fought to keep quiet and failed, just barely. Another sigh slipped out.
She wasn’t just relaxing in there—Claudia was getting herself off.
Claudia
Claudia closed the bathroom door softly behind her, the echo of it latching filling the quiet space. She leaned against it for a brief moment, letting out a slow, measured breath as the events of the day settled deeper into her skin. The faint hum of excitement that had lingered beneath her composure since they left the boutique hadn’t faded—if anything, it had only grown stronger.
She turned the faucet, letting the warm water spill into the tub. The sound filled the room, a soft rush that felt comforting, almost soothing. Her hands trembled slightly as she undressed, sliding the clothes from her body and throwing them into the laundry bag. Piece by piece, she let everything else fall away until she stood bare, her skin flushed and warm, the faint glow from the vanity light casting shadows along her curves.
Her gaze shifted to the small panties she took with her into the bathroom. Delicate and nearly transparent, the thin fabric felt almost weightless in her hand. She unfolded them slowly, the older man’s words replaying in her head.
“You’re not leaving with that dress unless you change into the panties I’ve given you”
A shiver coursed through her, but it wasn’t from the chill. She slid the panties up her thighs, adjusting them carefully against her hips. The mirror caught her attention, and she stepped closer, watching the way the fabric clung to her, barely concealing anything. Her nipples hardened under her own gaze, but it wasn’t just the sight of herself that sent heat between her legs. It was him.
The older man. His voice, steady and calm. The way his eyes had lingered over her body, unashamed and unapologetic, as if she were his to command. And Peter had let it happen. He’d stood there, watching quietly, as if he too had fallen under the man’s spell. There had been something intoxicating about Peter’s silence, his willingness to submit.
Claudia ran her hands over her stomach, brushing lightly over the fabric stretched across her mound. What would the older man have done if Peter hadn’t been there? Or if they would visit the boutique again. Would he have dared to touch her? Would she have let him? The answer came too easily.
Yes.
Her breath quickened as she let her fingers drift lower, pressing gently over the thin fabric. She imagined his hand guiding hers, his voice low and direct, telling her exactly how to touch herself.
“Let me see you,” he might say. “Show me how you like to be touched.”
Claudia’s knees weakened at the thought, and she sank slowly to the floor, her back against the cool tiles. The panties stayed on, the thin barrier between her fingers and the aching need growing hotter by each second. She teased herself through the panties, circling slow and deliberate, biting her lip to suppress the soft moans threatening to escape.
But the more she thought of him—the way his eyes had traveled over her, the authority that rolled off him in waves—the harder it became to stay quiet. Her breathing grew heavier, her fingers more insistent, slipping beneath the fabric to spread the wetness pooling there.
Would he be rough? Or would he take his time, watching every flicker of pleasure cross her face?
She imagined him standing over her, fully clothed in his suit, while she lay bare beneath him, his gaze unyielding as he surveyed every inch of her exposed skin. Perhaps Peter would be there too, standing off to the side, helpless under the older man’s scrutiny. She shuddered at the thought of him addressing Peter directly, his voice calm but firm. “Stay right there,” he might command. “Don’t interfere. Let her show me how badly she wants this.” Peter’s throat would tighten, but he’d obey, rooted in place by the same quiet authority that had held them both captive in the boutique. Claudia’s thighs squeezed together involuntarily, her fingers quickening. The idea of being put on display, of Peter watching with longing as she surrendered to another man’s will, sent her spiraling deeper into pleasure.
Her hips lifted slightly, chasing the sensation, no longer caring if the soft sounds she made drifted past the bathroom door. Let him hear. Let Peter know exactly what she was doing, and more importantly, who she was thinking about. The thought pushed her closer to the edge, and she let out a breathy whimper, her head falling back against the wall.
Her free hand trailed up her stomach, cupping one of her breasts, rolling her nipple between her fingers, and the older man’s words echoed vividly in her mind—“Most men would find it quite attractive if a woman’s nipples were slightly visible through a dress like this.”
“Pinch it harder,” she imagined him saying, his voice steady and firm, the words rolling over her like velvet. “I want to see them ache for me.”
A soft gasp slipped past her lips as she obeyed the phantom command, twisting the sensitive bud between her fingers until the sharp edge of pleasure sent a ripple of heat spiraling downward. She pictured his eyes narrowing in satisfaction, watching her closely as she trembled beneath her own touch. The water continued to fill the tub, forgotten now, the soft steam rising around her, wrapping her in the fantasy like a cocoon.
The image in her mind grew clearer—the older man pulling her panties aside, not bothering to remove them fully, just enough to sink his fingers into her. His gaze fixed on hers, unrelenting, commanding.
Claudia’s body tightened, her thighs trembling as pleasure rushed through her. Her lips parted, and this time she didn’t hold back the moan that slipped free, echoing softly against the tile. Her fingers slowed, drawing out the final waves as she lay there, panting quietly, the aftershocks still rippling beneath her skin.
She opened her eyes slowly, staring at the ceiling as the room settled around her. The rush of the water filling the tub continued in the background, grounding her back to the present. Her gaze drifted toward the door, wondering if Peter had heard anything. If he had, he hadn’t interrupted—just as he hadn’t in the boutique, standing silently by while she surrendered to another man’s voice.
Claudia smiled faintly to herself, lifting her hips just enough to slide the damp panties down her legs. She held them for a moment, twisting the delicate fabric in her fingers before letting them fall to the floor beside her.
Perhaps she’d leave them there on the floor as if she forgot about them. The thought of him finding them, damp with her lingering desire, made her smirk softly to herself. She imagined his hesitation, the way his breath might hitch at the sight, his fingers grazing over the fabric as he realized exactly what she had been doing. Let him wonder, let him stew in it—knowing he hadn’t been invited in, knowing she had taken this pleasure for herself. That small, teasing distance felt like a silent confession.
