Of Course!

It was a quarter past four when Tara stifled her yawn. The giant Redbull she drank earlier was already starting to wear off. Perhaps it wasn’t a proper replacement for a good night’s sleep. But it was the best she could do. The night before, the short girl had tossed and turned all night. Unable to even get one wink let alone forty. She was just so excited. And nervous. And horny.

And she was still all of those things when she arrived at the address Power Girl gave her the day before. It was a tall building, even by Metropolis standards. A column of steel and glass pieced together in a retrofuturist style. Above its double doors was a standard corporate-style logo. Apparently, this building belonged to Starrware Industries. The subheader beneath it denoted it as a regional headquarters. Tara tried to recall if she knew anything about the company. She had heard the name before but that was about it. She wondered briefly if it had anything to do with S.T.A.R. Labs. But before she could ponder that for long she remembered why she was here.

Opening the glass door, the musician stepped into the immaculate lobby. Tara felt instantly out of place. Despite what Power Girl had told her she did her best to dress nicely. But as a freelance musician barely making enough to survive on, Tara had little in the way of nice clothes. She did manage to find an actual, white, button-up blouse to wear. Her normal gray hoodie was swapped out for a lumpy, equally gray, knitted cardigan she found at a thrift shop that morning. As for pants, the best she could do was fish out the pair of jeans that was properly sized for her. It was still too baggy to be considered stylish, not helped by the few holes that had been patched with mismatched plaid. Her beat-up, well-worn, boots… Well, at least they were clean.

But despite her effort, Tara felt like she stuck out like a sore (and poorly dressed) thumb. The polished, marble floor spoke of status. The exotic, flowering plants spoke of wealth. The indoor waterfall spoke of power. And the black, leather soft furnishings spoke of confidence. All of which made the musician feel humbled, poor, weak, and nervous.

This was made all the worse by the two people in the lobby. The security guard in the corner kept his face carefully neutral but kept a hand on the collapsible baton on his belt. Clearly ready to throw out this vagrant that had wandered in. The receptionist behind the desk, a forty-something beauty, made a point of not looking at the shabbily dressed girl who had walked in. Instead of typing away at her computer. She could only have been less impressed if she was holding up a big “You don’t belong here” sign.

It was only when Tara crept up to the front desk that the woman deigned to look at her.

“Can I help you, miss?” That was what her words said. What her tone said was “What do you think you’re doing here?” It took a moment for Tara to find her voice.

“I’mheretoseeKaren,” Tara muttered. More to the floor than the receptionist.

“Speak up please.” The receptionist was clearly running out of patience. The thought of being kicked out, or somehow getting Power Girl in trouble made Tara begin to panic. She did not want to mess this up.

“I’m here to see Karen.” Tara **** the words to come louder this time. Even managing to look the receptionist in the eyes. It took a moment before the woman responded to that.

“You’re here to see… Karen.” The receptionist’s voice was completely flat.

“Y-Yes.” Neither spoke for a long moment. A bead of sweat rolled down Tara’s temple as a horrible thought occurred to her. What if this was all some sort of prank? Tara found it hard to believe, but the doubt ate at her.

But then the mature woman spoke.

“I-I see.” Now the receptionist seemed nervous. “R-Right this w-way, miss.” Or more accurately she seemed terrified.

Shocked by the sudden change in the woman’s demeanor it took the short girl a moment to follow her. Heels clicking on the marble the woman led Tara to the far-right elevator, curiously walking past several others. Reaching it she swiped her key card in a reader. Mercifully the doors slid open immediately. She didn’t really want to spend a lot of time with this woman. Even if she was no longer being as rude.

Tara stepped inside, the door held by the other woman. The secretary then pressed the button for her, something the black-haired girl found a little odd.

“She’s on the top floor. Have a good afternoon, miss.”

The elevator proved to be a fast one, judging by the feeling of Tara’s stomach falling from her. But going up twenty-six floors still took some time. Time for Tara to think. And as she did something occurred to her. The musician had never actually worked in an office building. But she always thought the upper floors were reserved for big wigs. Executives and the like. Then again maybe that was just a thing on TV. Like how ERs were always busy in medical dramas. Or maybe Starrware just did things differently. After all, she wouldn’t want to have to take this ride at least ten times every week.

A soft electronic ding heralded her arrival, as the doors slid open. She stepped off the elevator expecting to find herself in a hallway. But instead, she found herself in another lobby. This one was far more welcoming than the last. Part of it was the plush, white carpet. Part of it was the pleasant, smooth jazz playing softly. Part of it was the lovely landscape painting on the left wall. And part of it was the secretary, a much more friendly-looking woman.

She looked closer to Tara’s age which made her a little less scary. But more importantly, was the fact that when she spotted Tara she flashed her a dazzling smile.

“Oh! Hi there!” The woman said. “You wouldn’t happen to be Tara Thrussle would you?”

The girl in question had briefly considered that she may have somehow gotten off on the wrong floor. But that theory had not lasted long.

“Y-Yes,” Tara said. “That’s me.”

“Excellent!” The excitable woman declared. “Well, you’re a little early so she is still downstairs. She’s in a meeting see? But she said if you got here early you could wait in her office.”

As she spoke the secretary gestured at a large, ornately carved pair of wooden doors. At first, Tara thought it depicted scenes from some unfamiliar mythology, but it really showed the evolution of life on Earth. Starting on the outer edges with single-celled organisms and growing more progressively complex as you got closer to the center. Until, finally in the middle stood a group of humans, composed of a variety of races, colors, and creeds. It was one of the most complex-looking pieces of art Tara had ever seen.

Something was off.

“Are…” Tara was unsure of the best way to phrase it. “Are you talking about Karen?”

This made the woman squeal in delight, before answering her question.

“Already on a first-name basis, huh?” The secretary said. “Yes, this is Karen’s office. She said you were free to wait inside until she got back. And between you and me you absolutely should. The fainting couch is super comfortable.”

Tara was now very confused but walked towards the door anyway. As she reached for the handle the secretary had one more thing to say.

“I’m going to make some tea. Do you want anything?”

“I’m fine,” Tara said as she pushed the door open.

“That’s just what Karen said,” The secretary teased, once more putting an odd inflection on Karen’s name.

Tara rushed to get away from the teasing, good-natured as it sounded. So she quickly stepped over the threshold. Then carefully shut the expensive-looking door behind her. After she did she looked around the office.

Well, it was technically an office. In the way, an aircraft carrier was technically a boat. Or a palace was technically a house. It was massive. Easily larger than her apartment. And more richly decorated than any room she had seen so far. There were several statues and art pieces. Two separate meeting areas, a long, board meeting table, and a small, round table for smaller groups. There were also several pieces of soft furniture including the aforementioned fainting couch. A massive, impressive desk with a large, brown, leather chair behind it. Most striking of all though was the far wall. Rather than a true wall, it was entirely made of floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond which was a glorious view of the Metropolis skyline.

Also, there was a collection of snow globes for some reason.

But Tara couldn’t think about that. She couldn’t think about anything. There were simply too many questions. No way to figure out where to start. As she tried to make sense of her situation Tara found herself sitting on the fainting couch.

It was really comfy.

She stared out the window for a moment. Simply enjoying the view.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” A familiar voice said behind her.

Jumping to her feet Tara spun to face the woman walking into the office. The woman walking into her office.

It wasn’t that hard to recognize Karen even out of her superhero garb. Instead, she wore a navy blazer and matching slacks over a baby-blue blouse. She wore a pair of conservative, wedge heels. There was also a touch more make-up (most noticeably the heavier presence of eyeliner) on her sublime face. Her blonde hair was tied up in a loose bun, a handful of free locks framing her face. It was a surprisingly effective disguise.

But Tara had spent a week getting to know this woman. She knew the sparkle in those eyes. She knew that cocksure smile. She knew that aura of power and confidence that radiated off of her. She knew that voice and playful tone. And even if they were covered up, she knew those tits. She had spent enough time thinking about them to know them from only the small amount of cleavage left exposed by the undone button on her blouse.

She was ninety percent sure she would have recognized her without knowing who she was already. Maybe seventy percent.

But she recognized Power Girl lurking behind the façade of Karen all the same.

“So I don’t think we’ve technically been introduced,” The businesswoman said, as she extended her hand. “My name is Karen Starr.”

When she heard that surname everything clicked into place. The receptionist being nervous after she realized who she was here to see. The secretary, Karen’s secretary, teasing her over casually calling this powerful woman her first name. The massive office on the top floor. It all made sense.

Karen was barely containing laughter. Apparently, the moment of revelation was visible in real-time on Tara’s face. And, also apparently, she found it hilarious. It was then the last few pieces fell together.

“Y-You set me up!” Tara squeaked indignantly, stomping a petite foot in frustration. This display broke the damn. The businesswoman erupted with laughter.

“I’m sorry!” Karen’s apology was hard to take seriously. Gasped out between guffaws as it was. “I just couldn’t resist!”

Tara huffed in frustration, crossing her arms and looking resolutely away from the laughing woman. She wanted to be mad at her, but she was just too pretty to be mad at. After a moment the secret superheroine calmed down enough to get herself back under control. Out of the corner of her eye, Tara saw the taller woman step next to her.

“Are you really mad at me?” Tara felt a muscular arm wrap around her shoulder in a half hug. It was a lovely warm feeling. One the shorter girl snuggled into unconsciously. In that moment she felt instantly better.

“No,” Tara said, turning her head to look at Karen. The blonde did a good job hiding it but she seemed genuinely relieved.

"And no one gave you too much trouble, right?" That time it was Power Girl that spoke. She kept her playful tone intact, but there was an underlying menace. It was clear that if anyone did treat her poorly in any way heads would roll. Perhaps literally.

"No," Tara assured her. "The receptionist didn't realize who I was at first, but that's all."

"Well she's an idiot," Karen scoffed. "I gave her the heads up that I had a hot date. Of course, that's you." The matter-of-fact tone made Tara blush all the harder. The taller woman wasn't teasing, or making a joke, or just flattering her. She said it like it was the plain and obvious truth.

A part of Tara told her to refute the statement. There were many words she would use to describe herself (short, bony, pallid, flat, unremarkable) but hot wasn't one of them. If either of them was the hot date it was Karen. She was like a wondrous flower in full bloom. Tara would call herself a wallflower, but in truth, she was so underdeveloped she was a wall bud at best.

Instead, though her mind latched on to a different word in that sentence.

"We're going on a date," Tara said, a giddiness bubbling up within her.

"Yeah. We are." The older woman pulled her a little tighter against her side.

Then something occurred to the diminutive soloist.

"We're going to dinner."

"Dinner and dancing. I promised you the whole nine yards remember?" Karen spoke with the same effortless confidence as always.

"I can't dance!" Tara objected.

"Relax. It's not a grand gala. The restaurant just has a dance floor." When Tara seemed unconvinced Karen added. "I won't step on your toes and if you step on mine I promise it won't hurt."

That was almost certainly true but also wasn't what the black-haired girl was worried about. She was more worried about embarrassing herself in front of people. But she decided to fight that fight later. There was something else she was getting at.

"Look what I was trying to say is that 4:30 seems kind of early for dinner."

“Well technically our reservation isn’t until six,” Karen explained. “But we've got two stops to make.”

…

The journey to their first stop was an ordinary one. The two chatted a bit. The two flirted a bit. In the elevator, it was just that sort of banter. Karen complimented Tara’s new sweater. Tara said she liked seeing Karen with her hair up. Little things like that. Mostly because they liked the sound of each other's voices.

Once they got into Karen’s car, a candy red, two-doored, electric sportscar she described as “My Baby,” Karen filled her in a bit about what she set up for their date. She had managed to get a reservation at La Cime. According to the blonde CEO, it was a very nice place. One of the nicest in the city apparently. They were known for their fine food, fine wine, and fine atmosphere. Getting reservations on short notice was almost impossible, but the owner owed Karen a favor.

But Tara’s date resolutely didn’t mention what the other stops they were going to make first actually were. But given how nice the restaurant Karen talked (bragged) about sounded, Tara had an idea.

Pulling up in front of the hole-in-the-wall boutique was just confirmation. It was a surprisingly low-key place given how fancy a restaurant they were going to later. It was a simple brick building. The kind they built back in the day so someone could live above their shop.

As the two women walked inside they were immediately greeted by a small, old, Asian woman Tara assumed was the owner. Karen and the lady talked animatedly, apparently having set up this meeting yesterday.

“Is this her?” The owner asked.

“Yep.” The blonde said happily. “This is Tara.”

“H-Hey,” Tara said awkwardly. After a moment the owner spoke again.

“She’s even shorter than me!” The old lady joked. And like all great jokes it had an element of truth to it. The shop owner did have an inch on her. “Good. Makes my job easier.”

“What do you think?” Karen asked the woman.

“Measurements first,” The lady groused, evidently having said this many times before. “I have one dress that might work for her.” Karen beamed at that.

“That’s great!” The blonde seemed thrilled. “Mrs. Park is a genius. If she says it’ll work for you it’ll be perfect.”

“Measurements first!” The lady insisted.

Mrs. Park proved a consummate, if terse, professional. Her tape measurer flew across Tara's body taking any measurement she deemed necessary. That professionalism was a boon, as without it the seamstress's invasion of her personal space would have been horribly mortifying. Instead, it was only quite discomfiting. Of course, the situation was exacerbated by the sound of barely contained giggles coming from Karen. She apparently found her date’s embarrassment highly amusing. And remembering that the blonde thought she was cute when she blushed only made her flush more.

At least the Kryptonian had the good sense to stay quiet when Mrs. Park wrapped her tape around her barely-there bustline. That would have definitely crossed the thin line between playful teasing and cruel mocking.

“Ok, now behind the screen,” Mrs. Park said, after measuring her height. She quickly led poor, dazed Tara to an oriental-styled changing screen near the back.

“Now down to your undies and I’ll go grab it.” After speaking the seamstress was gone in a flash. Slipping behind a door to a large workroom, from which could be heard several women arguing in Rhelasian.

“Wh-Wh-Wha-” Tara couldn’t have heard that right. There was no way. But then again she very well couldn’t try on a dress over her clothes. And the time to object had already passed. So she did her best to convince herself that the seamstress seeing her in her mismatched underwear wouldn’t be that bad. She had been nothing but professional.

On the other hand…

“Turn around,” She said to her date. The woman had been watching the whole affair looking like the cat who ate the canary. But at Tara’s demand, she raised a perplexed eyebrow.

“You,” Tara spoke before remembering exactly who Karen was and that they weren’t alone. So instead she whispered. “You can see through walls! So I won’t do this if you don’t turn around.”

Karen seemed to find this situation extremely amusing. But graciously acquiesced, slowly turning around and holding up her hands in mock surrender.

“And…” Tara said hoping this sounded cooler out loud than in her head. “And no peeking!”

With that, she scurried behind the screen. Despite her shaking hands and lack of practice with button-up shirts Tara quickly found herself in naught but her skivvies. She didn’t want to look in the full-length mirror set up for her convenience. But she kept glancing at the skinny, almost naked girl in it. And when she did she found herself really wishing she had done a better job on her underwear. In the moment she had grabbed her best bra (a pink, floral print affair that was technically her only true bra given her preference for bralettes) and best pair of panties (bikini-cut bottoms with alternating stripes of dark and light blue, edged with white lace.) But now seeing them together she realized just how much they did not go together.

At least she thought to shave the few hairs that grew on her legs and under her arms.

“Ok slip into this.” The voice of Mrs. Park made Tara’s hands fly to cover up herself. But turning to look at the entirely unperturbed seamstress she realized she was being silly. Mrs. Park was trying to help her and had likely seen hundreds, if not thousands, of customers in their underwear. Besides she was covered at least as much if she were in a bikini. Not that she had ever actually worn something that revealing.

When the old woman cleared her throat Tara’s mind returned to the moment. Mrs. Park was holding a dress for her. Part of her wanted to look at the dress, but another part of her told her to get it on first before the older lady started getting mad.

So, with help from Mrs. Park, Tara slipped into it. It was an easy process despite Tara’s inexperience. And soon enough Tara was looking in the mirror again. The dress was by far the nicest piece of clothing the musician had ever worn. It was made entirely of sleek, deep purple silk. It clung to her body snuggly, but comfortably. The bodice was cut just below her collarbones. With her left arm bare and her right covered in a loose, flowing sleeve. On the back was a series of laces that allowed a small peak at the skin on her back. The skirt hugged her hips, such as they were, before flaring out wider as it flowed to the floor. Over her left leg was a slit that went to a little above her knees. Or at least Tara assumed it was supposed to go about that high. A large portion of the skirt was pooled on the floor around her, at least six inches.

“Too long,” Mrs. Park said looking down at the expensive silk on the floor.

“Too long,” She said again looking at the loose-fitting sleeve hanging well past Tara’s hand.

“Can’t wear that.” This time she tapped the exposed, pink bra straps that stuck out like a duck among swans.

“You need shoes.” It wasn’t a question. Apparently, Mrs. Park would not suffer this sumptuous gown being worn with Tara’s old boots.

“Ok. Give it back and we’ll fix this.” Again with Mrs. Park’s help, Tara got out of the dress. Once more in her underwear, the black-haired girl felt even weirder after having been dressed so nicely only moments before. The seamstress threw the purple dress over her shoulder, before scooping up one of Tara’s boots to check the size.

“Tiny feet too,” The lady said shaking her head in bemusement. “You can get dressed again.”

With that Mrs. Park returned to the backroom leaving flabbergasted Tara in her wake.

“So does that mean I can turn around.” Karen’s teasing voice called from beyond the screen.

“N-No!” Tara cried out. She quickly began scooping up her discarded clothes and putting them back on in a hurry. By the time she slipped on her cardigan, the seamstress came back into the room with a white paper bag. She walked up to the musician once more and showed her its contents, piece at a time.

“For your feet.” She held up a pair of black, low-heeled, Mary Janes.

“For your legs.” She held up a pair of white stockings.

“For your nipples.” This time Tara looked away from the two tan circles still adhered to a piece of paper that had been clearly ripped from a roll.

The last item confused Tara. It was a small bundle of silky, lilac cloth. It was only when Mrs. Park spoke, uncharacteristically quietly, again that she realized what it was.

“For panty lines.” She said before dropping the thong back into the bag.

When she handed Tara the bag and stalked off the musician realized her mouth was still hanging open. She quickly shut it, but couldn’t even begin to get rid of her fire-engine blush. She did manage to follow the woman out from behind the screen. And was very grateful to see Karen, still turned away from her, being thoroughly distracted by her phone.

“So…?” The blonde said after she noticed them. The look on her face was that of someone waiting for a surgeon to tell them if their loved one would live.

“Forty-five minutes.” Mrs. Park said firmly.

“YES!” The blonde whooped in delight. “You’re a lifesaver, Mrs. P!”

The seamstress, entirely unaware of the irony of that statement, gave a solemn nod to each of them before disappearing back into the workroom.

“She’s going to alter that dress in forty-five minutes?” Tara asked in disbelief.

“Like I said: She’s a genius.”

…

Their second journey was nearly silent. Karen seemed to interpret this as a comfortable silence. But for Tara, she was consumed with three questions. Did her date see her new, skimpy panties in the bag? Would she have the courage to wear said panties for their date? And: Would her date see them out of the bag? On her?

That itself begged another question. One Tara knew her answer for, but also knew not to get her hopes up. It took two to tango after all.

Their next stop was at a very different place. Compared to the down-to-earth boutique, the salon was positively chic. All white from the tile floor to the stucco ceiling, it figuratively shouted "We are too cool for color!" There were only three exceptions to this monochrome design. A few chrome accents here and there. A handful of succulents and other small plants (presumably because the interior decorator couldn't find a white one.) And the man who greeted them as they walked.

He wasn't white, his dark hair and bronze skin spoke of a Latin origin. And his clothes were far from white. His V-neck shirt was a canary yellow, that only barely went with his salmon-pink trousers. He also sported several facial piercings that broke the mold further, being gold instead of chrome.

"Welcome, welcome," He said in a deep voice as the two approached the (white) front desk. " My name is Amìlcar. Can I presume one of you is Karen and one of you Tara?"

"I'm Karen" The blonde introduced herself. "You'll have to figure Tara on your own.

The man gave a pleasant chortle as he shook hands with each of them.

"So whom shall I ply my humble craft on today?" He asked, checking the (white) computer in front of him.

"That would be the cute one," Karen said gesturing towards Tara, whose face unsurprisingly flushed with color.

"Excellent, excellent," The man said looking at her. "I'm always happy when I have plenty to work with."

With this, the three approached one of the several (white) stations. Amìlcar shepherded the musician into the (white) chair and set about his work. He started with her hair. First defusing it, the black rings taking on a hitherto unknown volume before he began to style it. Pulling the girl’s curls back into a low ponytail. Complete with two braids that framed her face and helped corral the hair from it.

As he worked he chatted. Mostly it was with Karen, but he went out of his way to include Tara.

“So what’s the occasion?” He asked eventually.

“We’re going on a date,” Power Girl answered excitably. “Technically our first.”

“Well good for you two,” The stylist said sincerely. “Everyone needs a little love in their life. How’d you meet?”

“Oh, uh…” Tara wasn’t sure how to answer that without giving away Karen’s super identity. She settled on skimping on the details. “We met at a coffee shop.”

“I needed some caffeine and ended up with a crush on the cute musician playing there. And now here we are a week later.” Karen’s addition to the storu caught Tara’s attention. Had the Kryptonian really had a crush on her since the beginning? Or was that just for Amìlcar’s sake? She didn’t get much time to ponder this though, as her stylist addressed her next.

“You’re a musician. So’s my boyfriend! What do you play?” He asked happily. Tara was about to answer when her date interjected.

“Let’s see I’ve heard her play the guitar, keyboard, and clarinet.” Tara now recognized Karen’s bragging voice. As always she felt a little awkward being praised but found it easier to accept it about her music. “So those three. Four if you count acoustic and electric guitar as different instruments.”

“I don’t know if I’d-” Amìlcar began before he was cut off.

“Um, a-actually…” Beyond all reason, it was Tara who interrupted him. But she had good reason. She hardly suffered from an excess of pride. Normally she would never brag or even stand up for herself. But she cared about her music. It was a part of who she was. It was the part she liked.

“Ok, I’ll bite.” The man braiding her hair said. “How many?”

“Ten,” Tara said bashfully. She may have been proud of her musical skills it still felt weird bragging about it.

“What!?” Karen asked in total shock. “Which ones?”

“Guitar, piano, clarinet, trumpet, violin, cello, saxophone, flute, ukulele, and ocarina,” Tara said. Though admittedly she was pretty rusty on cello and sax seeing as she no longer owned either. Also, she could only play Zelda songs on her ocarina. But she thought they still counted. This list caused Amìlcar to burst out laughing.

“Oh my God!” He said between deep breaths. “That’s awesome. My boyfriend, Devon, is always bragging about how he can play three instruments. I can’t wait to drop this on him.”

After that, the conversion became increasingly jokey. Amìlcar moved from Tara’s hair to her nails. Which received a trim, filing, and clear coat finish. Just as he began applying the polish to her left hand Karen’s phone dinged.

“Oh!” The blonde said checking her phone. “Your dress is ready!”

The blonde grabbed her purse and began walking towards the front door of the salon. Before stopping turn to face her date, a look of adoration on her face, and spoke again. Now with less excitement and more affection.

“I’ll be back soon,” Karen said. “I… I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

When the secret heroine was out the door the stylist let out a long low whistle.

“Damn,” He slowly. “I’ve seen couples date for years and never look at each other like that. Good for you. She seems like quite the catch.”

“You have no idea,” Tara said with breathless honesty.

It was then that a low rumble shook the windows of the salon.

“Geez, I hope it doesn’t rain on your first date,” Amìlcar said genuinely. “Then again you can’t have a romantic kiss in the rain without rain. So there’s that at least.”

Tara did her best to not look guilty. She had heard that sound enough times to know it wasn’t thunder. Apparently, her dress would get here very quickly indeed.

After Karen left the conversation shifted again. It quickly became Amìlcar talking at Tara as he applied her makeup. But that was just fine by her. She answered what she needed to. Letting him know what her dress looked like and even picking out the closest shade of purple she could on a color wheel. For the most part, though, she let him work. His focus seemed to be her dark gray, almost black eyes. He applied mascara to her lashes. Then came eyeliner, giving her an all-around winged pattern. Finally came the shadow, a purple that matched her dress that faded into a white that matched her stockings. Making sure to return her thick glasses to her face to make sure the make-up still looked right with them on (after she explained that, yes she definitely had to wear them. She was almost blind without them.)

He decided that Tara hardly needed blush for her date. But did help her apply some light pink, only a few shades darker than her natural color, lipstick. It was as Amìlcar finished his work that Karen returned carrying a dress bag.

“I’m baaack!” She announced. The Kryptonian had also changed her outfit while she was gone. She still wore a pantsuit but had swapped out the navy blue for black. And the baby blue for red. There were subtler changes as well though. Her jacket had a slightly more feminine cut, clinging a little more tightly to her waist. To help draw attention to her hips and prodigious bust. Her pants were tighter, showing off the shape of her thighs including the noticeable gap between them. And as Karen set down her purse Tara saw it displayed her backside just as much. Her shirt was likewise tighter, the red silk conforming to her toned stomach and massive breasts. Which were all the more on display as a second button had been undone, allowing a great deal of cleavage to be displayed. It was clearly a date suit as opposed to her earlier work suit.

“You did such a good job with it,” Karen said as she walked up to Tara. “Oh! You look amazing! Amìlcar you rock!”

“Thanks. Like I said it’s nice when I have a lot to work with,” The stylist said smirking. “Of course, I still like being paid.”

“Awesome, Tara why don’t you get changed and I’ll settle up here.”

And with that Tara found herself in the salon’s bathroom. Putting on the dress proved trickier the second time around. Especially given that she had to be careful not to mess up her hair and makeup. But most of the trouble came from her badly shaking hands. After applying the strange pastie-like patches to her nipples and putting on her new stockings she faced a dilemma. Standing all but naked she held the thong in her hands. She didn’t want panty lines, that was as bad as strangers seeing her underwear. Which left her with two choices. She would either have to wear the scandalous garment or go without. In truth it was an easy choice, it was just hard to make. But eventually, she found her courage and slipped the undergarment on. And while it was actually surprisingly comfortable, she was constantly aware of its presence between her cheeks as she dressed.

But now standing as she was in her full regalia she was astounded. The dress was beautiful and now it was sized appropriately, only barely tracing along the floor beneath her heel-clad feet. The slit now came up to her lower thigh, allowing for flashes of her stocking-clad leg. And with her hair and make-up done she looked resplendent. Better still for the first time since she was a child, she felt… pretty.

Returning to her date Tara could only hope she looked good enough for her. If Karen’s face was anything to go by she was. It was the first time the black-haired girl had ever seen the blonde’s cheeks color.

“W-Wow…” The heroine seemed blown away. Now it was Tara’s turn to blush. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” The musician said softly. “For all of this.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We're not even technically on our date yet.” With that Karen offered her arm to Tara, who graciously accepted.

And so the two walked out of the salon, Amìlcar giving Tara an enthusiastic thumbs up.