Aug 262015
 

Darren was hunched over the counter. There was a four stitch tear in the panties he was working on. The smell of perfume wafted up from the panties.

He guided the needle in and out of the delicate fabric. The thread was a perfect match for the pink material. More difficult was the stitching. Darren had to duplicate the rather rare Xeres stitch that made up the panties. It was new to him and this was his third try.

The bell above the door rang. In walked a woman in a green blouse and black slacks. Her eyes were Asian and her black hair was a shimmering veil. Darren guessed that she was Murean.

“Is Mr. Jaque in?” the woman asked. Her voice was lyrical with a light lisp. She was definitely Murean.

“Mr. Jacque is at lunch,” Darren said. It was what Mr. Jacque claimed but he always came back flushed in the face and smelling of bananas. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss?”

“Mrs. Qwen,” the woman said she pulled off her blouse. A white bra held her lovely breasts. Darren’s practiced eye identified them as C cups. When the woman moved to unclasp her bra, Darren remembered his manners.

“There is a changing room over there,” he said.

Mrs. Qwen ignored him. She removed her bra and her plump breasts were freed. She laid the bra on the counter.

Darren picked it up. It was warm to the touch. There were no holes. The fabric was inexpensive.

“What can we do?” Darren asked.

“It is too loose,” Mrs. Qwen said. There was an economy to her speech. “I want it to grip me tighter. Can you do that?”

“Certainly,” Darren said. “We can adjust the frame and add wiring if you wish. How tight do you want it?”

“I’ll show you,” Mrs. Qwen said. “Come here.”

Darren rose without hesitation. He really should be ushering her to a changing room in case another client came in but he lacked the courage. Mr. Jaque always said to obey the clients. He decided to err on the side of obedience.

He came around the counter and Mrs. Qwen presented her back to him. A flowing tattoo of a swooping bird decorated her back. The talons looked exceedingly sharp.

Mrs. Qwen looked over her shoulder. “Give me your hands.”

Darren lifted his hands and she reached back for them. Her small fingers grabbed his wrists and pulled him forward. He felt her bottom press against his now growing erection. She brought his hands up to her breasts and his fingers curled around her flesh.

“Higher,” she said. “Lift them up more.”

Darren did. He supported the weight of her breasts in his hands.

“Curl your fingers,” she said. “Tighter. Tighter.”

He obeyed. Her flesh spilled between his fingers.

“Closer together,” she said. “Right there.”

Darren’s hands came together to her specifications.

“Can you make a bra that holds me like this?” Mrs. Qwen asked.

“Yes,” Darren said in a whisper. He wasn’t sure but he would try. Mr. Jaque would expect nothing less.

“Wait, I must test it,” Mrs. Qwen said.

Darren didn’t ask how. He held her breasts and worked hard to retain the shape of his fingers.

Mrs. Qwen reached down to her pants. Her arm came down over Darren’s arm and pinned it to her. He heard the sound of a zipper coming undone.

Darren’s heart raced. His eyes darted to the door. No one was coming through.

Mrs. Qwen reached into her pants. Her arm moved. The sound of something wet was being stroked. A new smell joined the smell of fabric and sweat.

Darren shuddered. “Stay still,” Mrs. Qwen hissed.

Darren didn’t answer but he tried to obey. The movement of her arm was jostling his own. He made subtle adjustments while maintaining his precise grip on her breasts.

He felt her nipples harden against his fingers.

Mrs. Qwen stroked faster. “A little higher,” she commanded.

Darren lifted her breasts a fraction.

Mrs. Qwen stroked harder. The wet sounds grew louder. Her breasts jiggled within his fingers.

Darren’s member throbbed against the confines of his pants. It pulsed against Mrs. Qwen’s plump bottom. She had to have noticed the pressure on her ass. Darren feared offending her but if he moved his erection away, he might disturb the gripping of her breasts.

Mrs. Qwen groaned. Her hips moved. Darren’s cock ached as it was grinded on.

“A little looser,” Mrs. Qwen said.

Darren’s fingers relaxed ever so slightly. The jiggling of her flesh increased in his hands.

Mrs. Qwen said nothing as she stroked faster. The bouncing of her flesh continued within his grip. Her ass rolled against Darren’s trapped cock.

Darren wondered if he could climax. He was close. It was so hot and tight within his pants. Her breasts were so soft and warm within his hands. A little more and he was sure that could come.

Mrs. Qwen suddenly stopped. She groaned and a shudder ran through her body.

“Yes, this will do,” she said.

She pushed his hands away and took a step forward. Darren quickly stepped behind the counter to hide the bulge within his pants.

“That is the fit I want,” Mrs. Qwen said. She pulled her blouse back on. Her bra remained on the counter.

“We will work on it right away,” Darren said.

“I will return at the end of the week,” Mrs. Qwen said. She turned and her breasts swung freely within her blouse. Out the door she went and the bell signaled her departure.

Darren let out a long sigh. Was what she asked for possible? How was he going to explain this to Mr. Jaque? More importantly, could he possibly remember how she wanted her bra to feel?

He closed his eyes. His fingers curled around the plump flesh he could still feel. His hands came together until they replicated her wishes. His arms lifted as he recalled the weight in his hands.

Yes, he could remember.

  2 Responses to “Fiction: Mrs. Qwen’s Fitting”

  1. There are true craftmen in the world. I love them so.

    (Reminds me of the Beaches musical about Otto Titslinger.)

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.