Yes, to the department store

July 20, 2021

Dear Diary,

Today was unreal—hot, reckless, and way out of my comfort zone. Woke up still buzzing from Nick’s texts, that “wear it for me” line looping in my head. Decided I needed something new, something just for him, so I hauled myself to the department store. That black swimsuit’s mine now, but I wanted more—something to blow his mind. Walked in, heart already thumping, and there she was—the saleswoman from last time. Same sharp cheekbones, same knowing smirk, like she’d been waiting for me to crawl back.

Didn’t even have to explain. She clocked me the second I hit the swimwear section, sauntered over, and said, “Back for more, huh?” Voice all silky and teasing. Told her I needed something sexy, tight, for “someone special.” She didn’t blink—grabbed a white ASICS one-piece off the rack, no inner lining, thin spandex that looked like it’d show everything. “This’ll do it,” she said, tossing it at me. Pushed me into the fitting room, and I slipped it on—God, Diary, it was obscene. Clung like a second skin, stretched so tight I could see my nipples, my curves, every damn detail. Felt exposed, but… hot. Really hot.

Then she upped the ante. Leaned in, all conspiratorial, and said, “Come with me.” Didn’t wait for an answer—just motioned for me to follow her, wearing the swimsuit, through the store. I threw my skirt and tee over it, but it still felt like everyone could tell—shoppers, staff, all those eyes. She strutted ahead, leading me to this tucked-away corner—erotic toys department. My stomach flipped. She started picking stuff out, casual as hell: a small, discreet butt plug with a flared base, a vibrating egg you control with an app, and this thing called a Satisfyer—some suction toy that looked intense. “Trust me,” she said, winking, “he’ll lose it—and so will you.”

Back to the changing cubicle, and—oh my God—she didn’t just leave me with a bag. Stepped in with me again, curtain shut, and said, “Let’s test ‘em.” I was too flustered to argue. She handed me the plug first—cold, smooth—told me to slip it in, right there, under the swimsuit. Watched me fumble, smirking as I gasped when it settled. Then the egg—tucked it inside me, the swimsuit holding it snug, and buzzed it on low with her phone. My knees buckled. The Satisfyer? She pressed it over the spandex, right on my clit, and turned it up—suction hit me like a shockwave, and I had to grip the wall, biting my lip to stay quiet. “See?” she purred, her hand brushing my thigh again, lingering. “Perfect combo.” Left me panting, soaked, the white swimsuit showing every drop.

Bill was insane—hundreds, way more than I’d planned—but I didn’t care. Paid up, dazed, and walked out with the swimsuit still on under my clothes, toys in a bag swinging against my hip. The plug shifted with every step, the egg sat quiet but heavy inside me, and that Satisfyer was burning a hole in my mind. Got home, peeled off my outer layers, and just stood there in the white ASICS, staring at myself—wet spots blooming, fabric clinging, toys ready. Texted Nick a cryptic, “Got something for you,” and left it at that. Fell asleep dreaming of his face when he sees this, feels this, knows what I’ve got waiting.

I’m broke now, Diary, but God, I’m alive. That saleswoman’s got me wrapped around her finger—and I want more. Night.