Dress for Success

You've never felt so aroused in your life. You can't control your body as it writhes, your back arching stiffly in the throes of passion, limbs flailing wildly and tangling in the bedsheets which are tinged with your sweat. Your cock is painfully rigid and feels like tempered steel, and it cuts an arc through the air which ends just below your lover's vague form.

"Wait, cock...?" The thought moves slowly through your sex-ravaged mind, like a distant memory from a past life. You hiss through your teeth as a skillful tongue flicks along your aching nipples, wrenching the thought from your brain. The shadow-cloaked figure hovering above your thrashing body continues to **** your diamond-tipped nubs, engulfing each in turn between tender lips to lash with a warm, wet tongue.

A moan rises from your lips as you raise your lithe, toned legs to wrap around your mysterious lover's waist. You forcibly grind his stiff member against your weeping mound and your glazed, half-lidded eyes can only focus long enough on the featureless visage above you in time to see a wide smile of conquest come across his thin, smug lips.

"Brian...?" It's more a moan than a question: low and hungry. It's also your last thought as every pore in your body convulses violently in an earth-shattering orgasm and a cheery pop tune blares out of the small digital alarm clock radio perched on the nightstand next to your bed.

You shoot upright, panting heavily and clutching your right hand to your flushed neck, your left hand on your forehead, displacing unruly brunette locks into your eyes. Sweat beads your forehead.

"Just a dream." You sigh heavily and look around, noticing your drenched pick cotton sheets in disarray around you. The matching pink comforter is on the floor at the foot of the bed. You must have thrown it off at some point during the night. You raise your arms above you in a languid stretch, and yelp slightly as your still-stiff nipples brush against your pink silk nightgown. You blush slightly and consider further exploring your sex-weary body, but you **** yourself up on wobbly legs to begin your morning routine.

Wait, morning routine? You've barely been in this body and life for a day, how do you have a morning routine? Nonetheless, you walk nearly on autopilot into the shower, shedding your gown and stepping into the water. It's warm and soothing, and it starts to wash away the sticky juices of post-arousal coating your inner thighs. You move your hand between your thighs to clean yourself, but the motion brings to mind unbidden memories of the last night, with Brian's haughty smile lingering in your mind's eye until you shake your head and let the water run across your face. You do your best not to pay attention to all the new curves of your body as your hands move with minds of their own to clean you. A few thoughtless minutes later and you're clean and stepping out of your bathroom, ample curves and tresses wrapped in towels.

"What to wear today," you wonder aloud, standing in front of your closet. You tap your red lacquered nail to your bottom lip as you survey the numerous blouse, skirt, and dress choices arranged on hangers lining the closet. "Well, I guess I'll wear something as plain as possible." The array of women's clothing in front of you is overwhelming, and you need to find comfort where you can.

You step towards your clothes, and slap the back of your neck on reflex. You could've sworn you felt some kind of bug buzzing there.

Opening the drawers reveals an impressive collection of delicate lingerie in all manner of vibrant colors and patterns. You try to find some that are comfortable and plain. "No reason not to go for comfort, I guess," you say to yourself. After a minute of searching you find some that'll work and pull out a pair of high-cut satin-trimmed panties with a matching lace accent. You pull the smooth material up your shapely legs and let out an involuntary purr. The feeling of the material is smooth and luxurious... and sensuous. You feel your well-groomed sex moisten as you perform a similar ritual with the bra. Having both on, you smile to yourself and reach behind to snap the elastic below the creamy white inverted half-moon of exposed right ass cheek. You feel a comfort at being in this body that you can't explain.

You saunter over to the doors of your closet. "Maybe a loose pullover, or cardigan," you think, trying to cover yourself as well as possible. You remove the towel from your head, releasing your semi-wet locks to cascade over your back. They tickle the back of your neck as they fall, and you move towards the racks and begin searching.

"Ah, perfect," you smile, holding up a nearly transparent white silk blouse against your chest. You absentmindedly begin to hum along to the music from your radio as you put the garment on, shivering slightly as you pull it over your shoulders and fasten each delicate pearl button up to your throat, which is rapidly reddening as your nipples begin to stick through the thin material of the blouse. You move on to fastening the buttons on the wide cuffs as you sashay over to the assorted skirts and slacks to your right.

"Probably just some plain khakis," you mutter through yourself, sifting through hangers as you tap your foot to the beat. You pull out a figure-caressing above-the-knee black satin pencil skirt and hold it against the flare of your wide hips and firm thighs. You nod in approval and shimmy into the near-liquid fabric, zipping yourself carefully with slender red-painted nails and strutting towards your impressive assortment of footwear on the back wall of the closet.

"Hopefully I can find a pair of shoes that are comfortable," you say to yourself, "and definitely flats." It only takes you a moment to select a suitable pair and exit the closet, daintily traipsing to the main bedroom and sitting at a well-stocked vanity. You reach down and lightly caress your supple ankles and impossibly high arches before slipping each 5 inch closed-toe pattern leather stiletto onto your feet, moving upwards to fasten the thin leather ankle straps to secure the heels. You test them with a firm step of each foot before swiveling in place and sitting back in front of the mirror, crossing your toned legs.

Looking down at the dizzying array of makeup on the vanity, you feel desperately outclassed. "Something subtle, I guess. I'll try to make it tasteful though," you say even as you reach for a tube of attention-grabbing cherry red lipstick. You apply it carefully and pucker your bright red lips seductively in the mirror. You continue on, applying heavy mascara and thick eyeliner until your sultry appearance is reminiscent of a 1930's Hollywood starlet.

"Okay, I'm totally lost when it comes to hair. Better make this quick."

An hour later, you're ready to leave after you make one last check of your loosely curled brunette tresses which spill luxuriously in heavy, gold-accented waves to rest slightly above your shoulders. You start for the door, and pass your bedroom. The time on your clock reads 7:50, ten minutes before you start at work. Perfect, exactly enough time.

As you walk through your front hallway, you pass a full-body mirror on the wall. You check your body, but what you see fills you with a sense of overwhelming horror. How did you get these clothes on? You didn't pick these - right? Wait, didn't you? No, of course you didn't, or else you wouldn't have come out of it looking more like you were headed to a porn shoot than an office.

You pause for a moment. That last thought sounded weird to you. Why would you think those two things were so different? Now that you thought of it, the dress codes were pretty similar. You give yourself another once-over in the mirror. Nope, everything in order. You smile with approval and heft your breasts towards the mirror, reveling in their comfortable weight before releasing them and slapping each of your well-manicured hands down on your plump satin-skirted ass, sliding them along your wide hips to rest on your rapidly heating crotch. You smile coquettishly at yourself as you smooth the front of the black satin skirt, hands slightly grazing over your needy mound. You lift each heeled foot and blow a red puckered kiss at your reflection. Satisfied in your appearance and with a dull, pleasurable buzz in the back of your neck, you grab your car keys and open the front door.

You close the door behind you and click steadily on your towering heels towards your car. Hopping inside, you settle into the plush leather and sigh contentedly before starting the ignition and pulling into the street. You're on your way!