Ass full, Now the dress

Sinead looked at herself in the mirror, trying to reconcile everything that had happened in the last five minutes.

Her ass felt full. It wasn’t a feeling she was used to, and for some reason the fact that it hadn’t really hurt was the confusing part about it all. Also, the fact that she’d had a man’s fingers up there.

Marc had **** her to let him finger her butt, and then push that plug up there. It was smooth and cold at first, but it was already coming to a neutral temperature so it just felt… there. The problem was, had he **** her? She’d asked him to do it.

Maybe that was the part that was confusing her so much.

Once it was in, he hadn’t even so much as patted a buttcheek before he’d left her. He’d just said she’d done a good job, and that she could take a minute to collect herself. And she’d been thankful for that when he said it.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Sinead muttered to herself.

A simple, elegant clock on the wall told her that their reservation was approaching fast, and she shunted her worries and confusion to the back of her mind. All of this was to serve her case, and she wasn’t about to let all of this go to waste by not getting to dinner on time. Standing, Sinead took a breath and looked at herself in the mirror again, shifting the lock of hair that had fallen askew over her face back into place. The stylists had… she still couldn’t really believe how she looked. She’d always known she was attractive and had put effort into that, but this was on another level. She didn’t look different, she looked like an idealized version of herself.

It was just another confusing thing Marc was doing.

Clenching her fists, Sinead walked out of the washroom to find Marc waiting for her. With that fucking smile of his.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Weird,” Sinead answered truthfully.

“It will for a while,” Marc nodded. “Let me see?”

Sinead narrowed her eyes and might have even flinched a little at the request.

“Sinead,” Marc said sternly. “Bend over the bed.”

She did, moving to the foot and putting her hands down on either side of the gorgeous dress she was supposed to wear. And then she reached back with one hand, like in the bathroom, and spread one ass cheek. Why am I doing that? She asked herself. He didn’t ask for that. She didn’t have an answer, so she kept doing it, letting him look at her. She felt the heat rushing up from her chest again into her cheeks. When it became too much she released her ass cheek and put her hand down to brace herself again.

Marc came up behind her, standing just next to her, and Sinead felt her body tense. He was going to spank her for stopping. Or for hesitating. She could practically feel his hand striking her skin, anticipating it. Anticipating the crack and the sting.

“Magnifique,” he said. “You may dress now, Detective. I will be a moment changing, myself, and then we must leave to make our reservation.”

He left, and Sinead stood up, gulping a little. Marc went into the walk-in closet, leaving her alone.

What was that? She thought. Her pussy was fucking wet! She could understand, sort of, how everything in the washroom might have turned her on, but why the hell was she more horny now than before? This wasn’t supposed to do that. Why would imagining him spanking her do that? Why would she imagine it to begin with?

Frustrated with herself, Sinead let out a grunt and sigh, then turned to the dress.

“Marc?” she called after a moment.

“Yes?” he called back.

“There’s no underwear here,” she said.

“You don’t need any with that dress, petite rebelle,” he called from the closet.

She’d known that would be the answer, and wasn’t sure whether she’d hoped he would have given her an out or not.

Sinead picked up the dress and examined it some more. The fabric, whatever it was, felt amazing in her hands and she immediately knew it had to be expensive as hell. Why did he have a dress like this? How many other women had worn it? Was he actually some serial killer freak, and this was his ritual before he killed her?

She knew that was ridiculous, and she put on the dress. It fit her perfectly. The fabric felt sexy against her skin, which she wasn’t sure how to take. Her breasts felt completely exposed without anything cupped to them, but when she looked in the mirror she saw the cress exposed a swathe of the centre of her chest but fully covered her from any danger of exposing herself. Unless she decided to pull it aside, there wouldn’t be any nip slips.

Or if he does.

She was fairly certain he wouldn’t though.

The bottom hem of the dress hugged her thighs - it wasn’t a mini skirt, and she wasn’t at risk of flashing anything, but it was still short enough that she was keenly aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She put on the heels, which again fit her perfectly and made her wonder how he knew her shoe size, but they matched the dress perfectly.

Another glance in the mirror and she felt… she wasn’t sure. Sinead knew how good she looked in that moment. Knew that she didn’t just look like a snack. She looked… beautiful wasn’t right either.

She looked sophisticated. She looked like she could have been going to a gala.

Marc came out of the closet as she was putting on the earrings - silver hoops that were well under the size of looking slutty, but much more than the studs she usually wore.

“Ah,” he said, smiling as he came up behind her holding the necklace. It was a thin chain with a silver rose pendant, and she automatically pulled her hair to the side as he reached around her and fastened it behind her neck. It was an intimate gesture, something she remembered from the very earliest stages of her marriage. Something that had gone by the wayside within months, and years before the divorce.

“La perfection. Quel beau couple, tu ne trouves pas?” Marc said, looking at her over her shoulder in the mirror. He looked handsome himself in the dark suit. “Come, Detective. Your investigation awaits.”

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