Chapter 2

It was an offer, plain and simple, and her bluntness about showing her pussy was spellbinding. I didn’t know how to process it. I just stared. And yes, through my nervousness, I was aroused.

She pulled her panties up and fixed her pants. Thanked me. And said she’ll see me tomorrow. The exposure was nothing to her, like another facet of job training.

That night after dinner I called Agent Esparza and told him everything. I explained that we lacked credible leads, then the dressing room offer and pussy showing. The phone line went quiet for a moment, he often took a moment to think and this was, I’m sure, a surprising development he hadn’t anticipated. Or maybe he knew all along?

“Have you ever done anything like that before?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t. It’s not what I signed up for, either.”

“Your hesitation is understandable,” she said. “But given the circumstances, being flexible might be necessary for the success of this mission.”

I couldn’t believe what I heard. Were we talking about the same thing? Seeking clarity was pointless, men like him are careful with words, they know exactly what they’re saying.

“Do you still think national security is at risk?” I asked.

“Two known foreign spies, both women, had visited that boutique in the last month. Spies from different countries. Not adversarial countries, but it’s something we should keep monitoring.”

“You should have told me that earlier. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Look, I know it’s daunting,” he said. “But you’re getting real experience.”

“And who knows, you might even like it.”

I wanted to punch his lights out. Even over the phone. Instead, as always, I thanked him again for the opportunity and I agreed to keep him informed about important updates. Was I going to use my body? At that point I honestly didn’t know. We still didn’t have a warrant and I was losing faith in the assignment.

Quitting the job was a real possibility that night, and I don’t mean the boutique, but my role as an FBI agent. I didn’t deserve to be treated like that by anyone. Then I’d have to explain to my family why my ‘dream job’ came to an abrupt end.

At my age, back then, finding a career was everything, I wanted to do something meaningful with my youth. In all honesty, working at that boutique may have been a worthwhile career. Every day I got to meet interesting people and be around high fashion. But there’s something in my blood, talking to me, luring me to the excitement.

If I’m being true to myself it’s the excitement.

The thrill of the chase.

Before the boutique opened the next morning I informed Madame Isabelle about my decision and she was delighted. We agreed to take things slow and she kept me in the showroom for the time being. At the end of the day, she handed me an old erotic novel, originally written in French, translated to English, something from the 1970’s with a lesbian theme.

I consumed that novel over the weekend and understood why she wanted me to read it, because the plot revolved around a small boutique in a quiet town, where the owner and employees ate the pussies of their best patrons. It was essentially a how-to manual on the act of oral lovemaking in the dressing room. Under normal circumstances I would have gotten off reading that novel, but the reality of actually doing that put a wet towel on my mood.

As the season changed so did the clientele, as she had stated. More and more women were coming and buying gifts after getting off from work.

There were things in particular I found interesting:

1) Office women in their 40’s or 50’s, sometimes 60’s — the managerial class — came to buy lingerie or sensual undergarments. No shame whatsoever. They preferred sheer or items where labia or nipples were free. They’d have these wrapped with bow ties.

Later I learned that these were gifts for younger women in their office. A way of showing appreciation to subordinates who were eating their pussies. Or vice versa. They were also eating young pussy from the women who worked for them. It was either a ‘thank you’ or a show of dominance, having younger women discreetly wearing erotic undergarments to work.

2) They bought warmer wardrobe for the season, but this French boutique had clothes that were easy to slip off. Madame Isabelle explained to me that these managerial women often went braless or pantyless to work, and that these thick French garments made it possible during the season. Perfect for their office liaisons.

And that was how I ate my first pussy.

Her name was Signe Christensen and I remember everything like it happened yesterday. She was tall, elegant, with shoulder length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. I could tell she was upper-management based on how she carried herself, like she was used to telling people what to do. That didn’t bother me. I kind of respect that.

She didn’t smile at anyone except for my boss and they exchanged kisses on the cheek. I knew this woman was important because she didn’t bother looking at anything on the racks, Madame Isabelle did that for her, while they carried a conversation in French.

My boss picked two pairs of coats and wool sweaters and they went to the dressing room, then my boss came out and waved me over.

“Ms. Christensen is one of our best patrons,” Madame Isabelle said. “I’ve known her for years. She’s a senior executive and she spends thousands of dollars in wardrobe for each season. Do you understand my point?”

I nodded. “Service is service. I’ll make sure she’s properly fitted.”

“Wonderful. Enjoy the experience.”

Part of my soul left my body, part of me wanted to run, breaking cover and ending the FBI assignment. But another part of me was ignited. The part that wanted to delve deeper into the job — both of them — and see what I’m capable of. And if I’m honest, I was ignited down below more than anywhere else.

I went to the dressing room having no idea what to expect. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Or maybe this prominent woman just wanted eye candy to look at while getting dressed.

Signe Christensen stood nude in front of three full-length mirrors. She stood tall and proud, even barefoot, with her hands on her hips as she posed for her reflection, turning side to side. Her blue eyes were fixated on her midsection and she didn’t even acknowledge me for almost a minute.

“I’ve gained a few pounds,” she said. “Might be time for a new trainer.”

“You look fantastic. Most women would kill to have your figure.”

“I didn’t ask you. Outfit, please.”

She pointed to the clothing rack where my boss had picked out the coats and sweaters. My heart raced. As a veteran of working in clothing stores, I’d seen the occasional nipple here and there, but I’d never been around full nudity. Even when I brought the sweater to Signe she remained nude and lifted her arms so that it would slide in.

She looked in the mirror, liking the loose fit and warm material, while her legs and pubic hairs were part of her reflection.

We did the same thing with the other sweater, repeating the process of getting her nude and then trying on the next thing, only for her to model herself in front of the mirror. She never asked for my feedback. Women like her know exactly what they want, I was just service.

I tried not to stare at her erect pink nipples during the process, but when we tried on the coats, it was nearly impossible. She preferred staying nude when trying on the coats and I had to stand in front of her and adjust the sleeves and ensure the fit was right. I buttoned the front when asked. I couldn’t understand why she wanted to try the coats while nude, but later I’d come to learn that in the office, she liked being eaten out while sitting behind her desk and wearing nothing but the coat. The fabric added an extra layer of comfort from when her subordinates gave oral.

For the second coat she gazed at herself in all three mirrors. Turning her body side to side. Her coat was open down the middle and I got flashes of pubic hairs whenever her body turned. I was aroused but the nervousness of what might happen next put a damper on things.

“This one is divine,” she said.

“I’d have to agree. The color and size match your figure.”

“Correct. I hope you don’t mind, but I like being pampered before spending money. Can you do that?”

“My understanding is that you’re a novice.”

“Depending on what you want.”

“Eventually I want everything.”

Signe Christensen sat on a padded seat and I knew what had to be done. Her legs were open while the expensive coat gave her extra comfort. Her pussy was hairy and wet.

My first time eating pussy was almost like a religious experience. A life changing experience. Not something I’d ever forget. My hands spread her inner-thighs, opening her entrance, because service is service. Tasting her was the most vivid part. It was warm, kind of sweet, thicker than I’d imagined it to be.

Her hands stroked my hair while I worked and I kept thinking about if I should tell my superior — the FBI agent — that I gave oral sex to a business woman. When her orgasm hit I wanted to gag. She squirted. It ran down my chin. I swallowed. It was unforgettable.

I saw the satisfied smile on her face.

“You did so good,” she said. “Now wrap these up. I’ll pay at the counter.”

When she left the store half an hour later, Madame Isabelle knew that I did the job expected of me. Signe had that post-orgasmic glow, that pep in her step, and I had the look of shame. I remember feeling oddly proud that my boss trusted me with a top patron and I delivered the right results. I’ll be honest, it gave me a crazy sense of validation.

Once I was ‘established’ for having certain skills, my dressing room duties became routine, and so did the envelopes of cash my boss would slip me at the end of those days. Requests from clients varied from person to person, but I noticed trends amongst them.

Younger women tended to be shy and more submissive. Truthfully, most young women who went there didn’t know the full extent of benefits they could receive. Some were lured by the marvelous designs on the front window, and many left after browsing and seeing the extravagant prices.

Those ‘in-the-know’ had been told by their mentors to visit that French boutique for a new experience. Some had everything paid for on the company dime or from their boss’s pocket. They often had trembling hands in the dressing room. They were like young exhibitionists, wanting to be seen naked, then buying their clothes and leaving. Others wanted me to dress them, which I did, or asked to be touched, which I did.