Chapter 2: Shop 'Til You Pop

The sex was torrid and went all night. I worshipped every inch of her magnificent body with my lips, tongue, and fingertips. She did the same to me. I took her from behind, entered her doggy-style. I fucked her pussy with long, languid strokes even as I was stroking her meaty clitty with one hand. I willed her to cum, dared her not to, challenged her to hold out against the sensual assault that always drove Susan crazy. Dianna did cum; loudly, passionately, and more than once.

Throughout the night, she teased, taunted, tempted my puckered hole with her fingertip, searching for an opening in more than the physical sense. My mind had struggled with exactly that the past seven days. Why had I allowed it to happen the first time? My shame and humiliation came back to me, reminding me. I was a cuckold, it said. After last weekend, I was also a sissy; Dianna's punk bitch. True, I had been a little drunk then and hadn't seen it coming. Now that she was making the overture once again, when I was in complete control of my senses and no longer taken by surprise, what would I do?

Complete control? What a joke! For more than a week, I had been presented with evidence heaped upon evidence that my personal life was completely out of my control. Cuckold. Sissy. Punk Bitch. Okay, Lance; get a grip. A commodities trader deals in options every day. What were my options? I could continue to fight; that was the American Way. I could persist in my scorched-earth campaign of spite, malice, and revenge. Susan certainly deserved that for what she did — but did I? Was I ready to allow my thirst for vengeance to consume me, even as I sought to devour her? I could just walk away from everything in my personal life and start over; flip that old Etch-a-Sketch over, give it a shake, and Presto! Start with a clean slate. I had my career, a spectacular income, a new home, a future. What did that future contain?

Again and again, my thoughts returned to Dianna. She was more woman than I had ever known before in my life. A lot more than ANY woman, Buddy; think about it... I hadn't been able to get her out of my mind all week. I certainly couldn't now, with her body pressed intimately against mine. It felt good. It felt right. Being with her presented a tantalizing third option: what if I neither fought, nor ran? What if I just... gave in? She had certainly indicated she wanted me that way. Hadn't I cum in buckets that first time? Hadn't she? Had not my surrender to her been the most intense personal and emotional connection I had had with any human in my entire life? Where was the harm in just letting go, and seeing where the current took me? Cuckold. Sissy. Punk Bitch. Those were just words...

I responded to my own soul-searching by spreading my legs just a bit. Dianna took that cue, then took me.

We watched the sun come up over the lake, then slept like the dead until noon. It felt good to shower with someone again. It felt better to have sex in the shower. We reprised our reciprocal roles; she took my meat, then I took hers. Being with her this way, I didn't feel the guilt or shame of becoming a 'switch-hitter' I would have felt — had felt - even a week before.

As we were toweling each other dry, she kissed me tenderly on the lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Lover," she purred sweetly. "I generally don't do holidays because I don't have anyone really special to do them with. Thank you for making this the most special day I have had in a long time."

Damn! With all I had had swimming around in my head in the past week, I had completely forgotten what day this was. I didn't even have a card for her. The thought just suddenly popped into my mind. I somehow knew she would ask the question and wanted to be prepared for it when she did. I dashed into the bedroom, grabbed my cell phone, dialed the number I knew by heart, and started pulling strings...

Dianna followed me into the bedroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around her lush physique. She embraced me and kissed me warmly. Then, she gazed into my eyes with a twinkle in hers.

"So," she began teasingly, "what's next? I mean, what do you do for an encore after this?"

"Gee, I dunno," I teased back. "I mean, what can I do to keep a gorgeous woman like you coming back? I had given a thought to taking you out for dinner tonight; someplace really nice. I don't know what you have in your closet, so I suppose I'll just have to take you shopping."

Her eyes lit up like klieg lights at a Hollywood premier. She hugged me so hard, I thought she would crush my ribcage.

"Oh, Baby," she breathed lustily in my ear. "You know how to push all a girl's buttons. Let's go get dressed."

Our first task was to retrieve my clothes from wherever they had landed in Dianna's frenzy to disrobe me the night before. A problem became immediately apparent as my enchantress gingerly held up my briefs - or what was left of them - between her thumb and forefinger. They were still drenched with pre-cum from the long anticipatory drive from the office. Then, in the heat of passion, she had literally ripped them from my body. She silently arched one eyebrow quizzically and smiled bemusedly. I returned the smile and shrugged my shoulders just a little. She laughed.

"I guess I'll just have to do without," I observed.

She pressed her body against mine and gently massaged my cock with one hand.

"While it would be hot to have you so... accessible inside your pants," she cooed, "I think we will try for something a bit more modest for now. If you oozed that much last night, before you even got here, you would ruin that beautiful suit today. I promise you that."

She went to her dresser drawer, rummaged around for a moment, then returned.

"These will do the trick," she chirped with a grin.

I beheld the pink satin bikini panties with ruffled lace trim which she held against my crotch with two fingers from each hand. My mind swam in a confused tangle of thoughts. "That's modest?" was all I could think to say. The look in her eyes was pure seduction.

"You like the way I look in my panties, don't you?" she asked in a tone of faux innocence.

I could hardly deny it.

"Well, being with you all day, thinking of you in a pair of my panties while we shop, will drive me to distraction. That's really hot, Sugar. Do it just for me... please?"

Just give in, and see where the current takes me...

She helped me into the panties, sliding them up my toned, hairless legs, and nestling them snugly around my hips. Gazing directly into my eyes, she reached her hand into the panties, cupped my manhood, and tucked it down and back between my thighs.

"Now that I think of it," she postulated, "we are probably going to need a little extra protection. Wait here."

She glided into the bathroom and returned a moment later with several folds of toilet tissue in her hand. She reached inside my panties and positioned the tissue under my cockhead.

"There, that's much better," she mused. "We girls always do that to protect ourselves from leaks."

Removing her hand, she cupped my pantied crotch from the outside and massaged it gently.

"I have a hunch you are going to be leaking heavily today, Sweetie," she whispered in my ear. "At least, you will if I have anything to say about it."

Next, she had me help her into a heavily-boned, lace-up black satin corset.

"If you are taking me someplace special," she purred, "I want to make sure I look special. Corseting is so sexy, I just can't help but feel like the most beautiful woman in the world."

I couldn't imagine her looking or feeling like anything but. After she showed me how to fasten the front busk for her, she placed both palms against the wall, leaned into it, and taught me how to pull the laces a little at a time from the top and bottom, working towards the middle. After some effort on my part, I had the garment laced as tightly as it would go, then tied the laces off and tucked them in the way Dianna instructed.

My companion displayed the most gorgeous hand-span waist I could imagine. Her full, firm breasts stood out prominently. Her hips and tush were spread out even more provocatively than before. She made the picture even more erotic by rolling a pair of suntan stockings up her shapely legs and attaching them to the corset's garters. She made a show of donning a semi-sheer black chiffon blouse, waist-length, snug-fitting lavender suede motorcycle-style jacket and micro-miniskirt, and matching open-toed, lavender suede platform mules. The high stiletto heels arched her legs and caused her to thrust out her tush and braless breasts alluringly. The jacket was left unzipped, yielding a tantalizing glimpse of her prodigious charms. She made up her face accordingly; a bit heavier than I normally associated with daywear, but attractively so and totally in keeping with the personality of this exciting woman. She rummaged around in her closet for a few moments, returning with a matching lavender suede clutch purse and an oversized black leather Capezio bag.

"Two purses?" I questioned.

She gave me a quick buss on the lips.

"You're taking me shopping for a dress for tonight, aren't you?" she inquired bemusedly. "What do you intend for me to do with what I'm wearing now; throw it out? Forget that, Lover; I adore this outfit. Plus, I think it looks really sexy on me. Don't you agree?"

At least one part of my anatomy certainly did. She pressed her body against mine, cupping my angry manhood with one hand. Her silent, knowing smile spoke volumes. I had to get us out of here before hormones took over and we had to start from scratch. Makeup essentials and her identification went into the clutch; her bulky wallet and keys went into the bag. Then, she flashed me a dazzling smile.

"All set," she chirped. "Let's go. I can't wait."

I'm sure for Dianna, a hot day of shopping meant visiting the little shops along Clark Street or maybe Century Mall. Her eyes glazed over as we pulled into the underground lot at Water Tower Place. She affirmed she had been there before, adored its atrium design, brass and marble ambience, glass elevators, and seven levels of snob-appeal department stores and specialty shops, but had never been able to afford much more than looking. I avowed we would do a whole lot more than that before the afternoon was over. My black Yves St. Laurent trenchcoat was stored safely away in the trunk; I wouldn't need it until we returned. I took my companion's arm in mine and steered her towards the elevator alcove.

Lingerie shopping came first. While Dianna alone might have drawn the interest of the sales staff, Dianna in the company of a man wearing a designer suit and tie drew them like flies to honey. My lover allowed the associates to steer us to the appropriate displays and locate her preferred styles, sizes and colors. She demurred on their offers of assistance in the dressing room, avowing her boyfriend was all the help she needed. Before I could utter a word, she scooped up garments in one hand, my wrist in the other, and headed for the changing room.

When she said I would be all the help she needed, it was no idle boast. I was fastening hooks and adjusting straps the entire time. Each time she tried on a different set, she admired it in the mirror and asked what I thought. What could I say? She made everything look good. I had originally anticipated finding something just for that evening, but she found matching three-piece sets — bra, panties, and garter belt - in Winter White, Navy, Emerald, Hot Pink, Lilac, Crimson, and Black. She liked them all so much and they looked so good on her, how could I make her choose just one?

Of course, my decision was heavily influenced by Dianna rubbing my crotch suggestively each time she asked my opinion. The sensation of her ministrations on my satin-and-lace-encased manhood was indescribable. My cock was so hard, and stayed that way.

"You know," she cooed, "you seem to like me in this corset so much, I just might have to wear it more often. That, and all those garter belts, means, I will also need..."

"More stockings?" I inquired, smiling. "I think I can arrange that."

I slipped out of the changing room and located the associate we had been working with. After a brief interval, I returned to my girlfriend with two dozen pair of assorted ultra- sheer hosiery. By the time we returned to the check-out stand, Dianna was wearing a lilac lace underwired push-up bra, matching bikinis, and Jet Black seamed stockings with French heels under her outfit. I was sporting a raging hard-on inside my satin panties.

"I'm in a 'red' mood today," she whispered in my ear. "I feel really hot when I'm with you. Let's find something to match; something scorching."

It took another hour and visits to several high-end retailers to find the right dress. There were several she liked or I liked. We finally found one we both liked. It was a dazzling red sequined sleeveless sheath with a halter neck. The deeply-plunging sweetheart bodice revealed a breathtaking amount of cleavage. The scooped back just hid the upper edge of her corset. The hem hugged her thighs tightly, just covering the tops of her stockings. Dear God, it was exquisite on her!

We spotted the display in the window of a jewelry store. It was a set; diamond-and- ruby pendant earrings, multi-tiered necklace and multi-strand bracelet. I looked at her; she, at me. Our shared smile told the tale. It was my turn to grab her wrist and whisk her inside. The gems were perfect, exquisite on her. The associate, perceiving a ripe opportunity, withdrew another box from a drawer beneath the display case and opened it. Within lay a single-strand diamond-and-ruby bracelet that obviously was meant to complete the set.

Dianna stared at it quizzically for a moment, then at her other, un-adorned wrist. I knew immediately what the second span had been intended for.

"May I?" I inquired of the associate.

"Please," he consented, beaming his delight.

I lifted the delicate strand with both hands, knelt before Dianna's feet, encircled her trim left ankle and deftly clasped the clasp. She trembled slightly at the intimacy.

"Oh, Lance," she gushed, "it's perfect — just perfect."

The platinum card was out in a flash and the beaming associate began tallying the sale. The smile on Dianna's face froze as she watched the figures add up on the invoice. She grabbed me by my lapels and pulled me aside.

"They're... real?" she whispered hoarsely. "We can't... I couldn't..."

"So... what," I responded earnestly, "this whole, magical experience should be fake, just like my sham of a marriage? Dianna, we are going to do this; if not for you, for me. I'm not expecting you to commit to me for a lifetime. This whole weekend, starting from when I walked through your door last night, is shaping up to be exactly that; Magic. When it's over, I want to be able to look back and say: 'This was real.'"

"But Baby," she protested, "I'm not real. You don't know anything about me..."

I shushed her with a fingertip to her plush, inviting lips.

"Eyes of the beholder, Baby Girl," I responded softly. "You're real to me. This moment in time, if only a moment, is real. Let's enjoy it together and let tomorrow take care of itself."

Her second assault on my ribcage was more impassioned than the first. Still, she took great care in folding the receipt and insisted it went safely into my wallet.

The shoes happened by pure serendipity. We were on our way to Mrs. Field's to buy some Nibblers to tide us over until dinner and saw the exquisite sandals in the window of a specialty shoe store. They were nothing more than thin soles and series of narrow, red sequined straps, revealing rather than concealing the foot and wrapping, then buckling around the ankle. All of it was perched on pencil-thin five-and-one-half-inch stiletto heels. Dianna almost ripped my arm out of its socket dragging me into the shop. There was no question these were the right shoes for the dress, or that they were ideally suited for Dianna's mesmerizing strut.

My companion was no slouch when it came to makeup. In fact, she could have gotten a job in Hollywood anytime she chose. Still, this was an afternoon of pampering, so I had made an appointment for her at the salon next door in the Ritz Carlton to do her hair, makeup and nails for her. She was fussy about the right 'look' and insisted on changing into the dress and heels to achieve the right effect. In honor of the occasion and my all- too-willing assent, she had the nail technician do a full set in an ultra-glamour length, ruby-red with gold nail art, and gently curving downward. Her toenails were done to match. Her street clothes had gone into her shoulder bag. The jewelry went on, along with a few spritzes of perfume, and she was done! My already-stunning escort had become an otherworldly blend of elegance, glamour, and pure carnal desire.

The bewitching brunette insisted on a final 'walk-through' of the mall — specifically, to show off. We used the enclosed skywalk to return to the mall, which turned out to be a Godsend. Winter still held its grip on the Windy City; snow was whipping sideways on the side streets that intersected Michigan Avenue, as it so often did. I strode determinedly into the mall, my gorgeous companion in tow, and headed for one final, impromptu stop.

Don't ever let anyone tell you differently; Silver Fox is stunning on an attractive brunette. The instant the associate held up the coat, Dianna began trembling like a leaf in a Nor'easter. She didn't slip into it so much as the coat enveloped her in its comforting warmth, all the way to her trim ankles. The glazed look in her eyes was better than Sex; it lasted longer. She looked down and around, trying to take it all in. When she lifted the right sleeve, she noted the attached tag and read it. I steadied her as she shook uncontrollably.

"Baby, you could by a car for this!" she protested.

"Don't be silly," I quipped. "What would a coat do with a car?"

She punched my shoulder for that.

"Besides," I continued, "I already have a car. You don't have one of these. At least, you didn't until now."

Full-length couturier Silver Fox coat: if you have to ask, you can't afford it. Look of utter adoration on the face of the recipient: priceless.

Dianna was torn; whether to wear the coat or drape it over her arm for our final walk- through. Sheer wretched excess won out. She left it on, open, and draping slightly off her shoulders to allow a mostly-unhindered view of what was underneath. Imagine the absolute silence of an empty shopping mall in the dead of night. Now, picture that same silence on an early Saturday evening, in the midst of several hundred gawking shoppers on multiple levels of an atrium, gaping unabashedly at the vision on your arm. Okay, it wasn't absolute silence. One could plainly hear the unmistakable click-click-click of Dianna's heels echoing through the atrium and an occasional wolf whistle. I can only imagine the exhilaration she felt at that moment.