Jenn puts the "Not-A-Dress" back on

“Arms up,” Valerie said gently, as if speaking to a spooked horse.

Jenn obeyed on pure autopilot, too naked to form opinions. Her arms lifted and her completely naked form was soaked up by Valerie. The curves of her hips, her pink and hard nipples, and her landing strip shaved pussy all presented themselves to Valerie. Valerie gathered the shimmering dress, delicate as fog, expensive as guilt, and lifted it over Jenn’s head with ceremonial care.

The fabric kissed her skin on the way down. No cotton buffer. No elastic safety net. Just the transparent dress. The hem settled. Jenn stared at herself in the mirror.

She looked… exactly as naked as before. Just lightly gift-wrapped.

Jenn's voice came out as a whisper only dogs could hear. “Valerie.”

“Yes?”

“I can see... everything.”

Valerie nodded approvingly. “That’s the point.”

“I can see everything.”

“I know,” Valerie repeated, "I can see everything too."

Jenn slapped her hands over her chest, then switched to cover lower, then panicked and just hovered in indecision like a malfunctioning scarecrow.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “If a strong gust of wind blew over me, the fabric would just blow away!”

Valerie tilted her head, studying her like she was adjusting settings on a human lamp. “Okay, but look at the silhouette! Your body is gorgeous.”

“I don’t want to be a silhouette! I want to be a mystery!”

Right now, Jenn was not a mystery. She was documented evidence. The kind used in medical textbooks and cautionary tales.

She inched sideways toward the corner like that would somehow make her less visible. The dress glittered under the light, mocking the very concept of modesty.

“Then congratulations,” she said. “You’re officially wearing it correctly.”