Hurry on.

Deciding its best to focus on the reason you went outside, you turn away from the youths and walk quickly in the direction of nearby shopping center. First and foremost you need to break some bills and get some proper footwear. Already the abominations on your feet are proving painfully uncomfortable to walk around in and you're pretty sure everyone is staring at them judgmentally. You just know they're wondering how such a pretty girl could have such terrible taste as to go out like that.

It's only a few blocks to the shops but it feels like the trip takes ages. There aren't that many people out and about, which you decide is for the best, because the breeze occasionally comes in powerful gusts that seem determined to tug and tear at your dress and you're not wearing a stitch underneath. You have to gather the layers of skirt together in your fist, held snugly across your thighs to keep the wind from hindering your walk and use your other hand to keep your long hair from whipping across your face.

A man on the street grins at you as you pass by. What a spectacle you make, stomping around in men's sandals, clinging to your hair. The thin dress shows the shape of your body—including a lack of any discernable panty line—quite clearly as you hold it against the wind and you're absolutely positive that anyone who cares to look can see your nipples through the material. It dawns on you that the dress really isn't suited for early afternoon, and you probably look like you're on the most awkward walk of shame in existence. How humiliating.

Still, after only a handful of brief encounters on the street, by the time you make it through the door of a small boutique, your comically **** situation and the constant fantasies of what people must be thinking as they look at you have managed to turn you on just enough that you feel the need to compose yourself as the store clerk greets you with a smile.

"Hi! Welcome. What are we looking for today?" She's a brunette in her early twenties. Probably a college student working part time. She's stunningly gorgeous, you notice, to the point that it's suspicious. You don't fully understand why that should be suspicious, or of what, but she makes you slightly nervous.

You find yourself slightly jealous of her not-quite-shoulder-length hair as you tame your own hair back into place.

"Ah, yes. Well. You see... I kind of need everything."

The young clerk approaches. A nametag printed with the name 'Cindy' is pinned to a lanyard she wears around her neck. "Everything? Well, I'm happy to help you with any selections..." she stops and gets a better look at you. Her professional tone vanishes, replaced with empathetic amusement. "Rough night? What happened to your shoes, girl?"

Your cheeks heat up slightly with embarrassment. "I... don't know. I need new ones... and... underwear." You manage a small laugh to soften your pitiful admission but the clerk just shrugs like it's nothing she hasn't seen before.

"Hey, no judgment! I've made my own share of drunken mistakes. This side of town, just be glad you're able to make it home at all. A lot of really sketchy things go on around here." Cindy gestures to follow her towards a corner of the store with chairs, mirrors, and curtains. "Come on, we'll get you sorted."

You follow sheepishly towards the back of the store, feeling strangely that you have, in fact, been young once already so you actually do know better. But that doesn't really make any sense and the truth of your situation seems far less plausible and harder to explain, so you just let her believe what she will about you. At least she's being nice about it.

At the back of the store is a tasteful semi-private area with a small dressing room. Curtains can be moved around to make the area fully private. You assume it's intended as a space for VIP clients to comfortably spend a lot of money. But the store is little. It strikes you as odd, but then you're no businesswoman.

"I suppose you'll want to start with the underwear, yes?" Cindy says with a wry smile, eyeing your still-visible nipples as she draws the curtains closed to cut off the main floor of the shop. The curtains are heavy enough to completely drown out the ambient sounds of the street outside. Very cozy.

"Yes, please. But I don't know my size," you admit.

Cindy's smile broadens to something almost predatory. "Oh? That's strange don't you think? That's fine. I can measure you." She retrieved a small box from a nearby shelf and pulled out a cloth tape measure. You notice she's careful to keep you from seeing the other contents of the box as she opens and closes it. "Take off your dress, beautiful."

Something unsettling is happening but you really do need some clothes.