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Velvet Doll



by Janus Rain


Published by Janus Rain


Copyright 2017 Janus Rain








All depicted characters are 18 years old, and legally adults.


Emily was having a good day. Not a great one, because she had to work, but a good one.

She worked at Englander's, a clothing store for men and women in the ritzy part of the city, and it was a good job. They gave good benefits, paid well, and did commission bonuses. And since she was a good saleswoman, she pulled in good money. And so far, she'd made a few hundred in a single day, and all of her customers were pleasant.

Huh, she thought, looking at the clock on the wall. Might get home without an incident.

But, she glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows, and saw a Mercedes pull up. Her heart fell a little, and she inwardly prayed it wasn't who she thought it was. But her hopes were dashed when she saw the driver get out, dressed in a suit, and open the rear door.

Christ, no, Emily thought. Not Diana.

Diana was a thin, dark-haired woman, with sharp cheekbones and an excellent fashion sense, an airy summer dress fluttering around her slim frame. One arm clutched at a bag, and the other sipped from a coffee that cost more than Emily's lunch. As she strutted into the store, Emily gathering her forced customer service smile, she took off her sunglasses and slipped them into a purse that was more expensive than most cars, her relaxed bitchface giving Emil a scowl that she knew was not on accident.

Hello, Ms. Pence,” Emily said, forcefully.

Diana gave Emily a stare of dismissal and said, “Look, I'm in a hurry and need a new dress for a dance this weekend at my school. Don't dick me around, just show me something sexy that my principal won't bitch me out over.”

Ah,” Emily said. She was just glad that it was just one item. The pompous bitch came in two months ago and bought a whole new wardrobe and Emily was about to snap her neck by the time it was over. “Let me show you some of our evening wear, then.”

Diana fell in step, trotting on her expensive heels, as Emily led her across the store to the back half. “Did you have something in mind?”

Black, and sleek,” Diana said. “And try to make it French, okay, none of that cheap shit.”

Right, right,” Emily said, and tried not to look at her.

Emily liked fashion, but she also was a lesbian, and if she could turn off the part of her brain that wanted to throw up every time Diana opened her mouth to bitch someone out, she knew she could get her something that would look great for her. She begun to quickly flick through the dresses, snatching up black ones of a certain cut.

High skirt, to show off Diana's legs, a plunging neckline to make her flat chest look more appealing, but cover up the arms a little bit and no exposed belly. And, more importantly, no exposed back. Emily figured if she could keep the exposed flesh to a minimum, but also show off a bit of chest and legs, it'd make her happy.

She picked through and pulled out four black dresses, and brandished them in front of Diana. “Here, try these on.”

Without a word or even a smile, Diana scooped up the dresses. Then, as she turned to go to the dressing room, she shoved the coffee into Emily's hand. “Hold this.”

Emily let out a small breath, trying to focus her anger, and let her go into the dressing room before she dumped the coffee into the trash.

A few minutes later, Diana strutted out wearing the first dress, a classy little thing that came just above her knees and had a V-cut at the collar and bare arms. It was the most conservative thing in the pile.

Diana walked out to the mirror, glanced at herself, and let out a noise of disgust.

Trash,” she spat, shaking her head. “You think I should wear this garbage? I asked for sexy, not Catholic.”

Well, the others are-” Emily begun, but was cut off as Diana stormed back in, slamming it shut and quickly stripping out of the thing. Emily stood by, waiting, hoping the next dress would be better.

She came out, and she was clad in one of the sexier outfits, with a thigh-high skirt and straps that went up to the top, which was almost a tubetop that looped very lightly over her shoulders.

Diana strutted to the mirrors, looked down, and let out a shriek of horror.

The fuck is this?!” she shouted, scoffing. “And who made this? What did they sew it out of, sandpaper?”

It's French, just like you asked,” Emily said, patiently.

Horseshit,” she spat. “I bet you have some filthy kid in Portugal sewing it.”

Emily's teeth grit together. Her girlfriend was Indian, and she was starting to wonder how much trouble she'd get in for kicking the Pence kid out of the store forever. “No, this is confirmed French from our buyers in-”

And what is this?” she asked, jabbing at her exposed belly. “What, am I going to the dance flagging that I'm some wanton slut?!”

Emily bit her lip. “You said that you wanted sexy, and there's-”

Diana let out a scoff and stormed into the dressing room again. As she tore the garment off, Emily could hear actual, literal tearing.

Damage to our clothes will be charged to you,” she said, firmly.

A moment later, Diana stormed out, purse in hand. “Pffttt,” she snorted. “This garbage? Charge it to my card, see what I care, I bet it cost you twenty bucks at most.”

That dress you tore is eight hundred dollars and a part of the latest Prada fall line.”

Hah!” Diana snorted, storming to the front, brandishing a credit card that had no limit as she did. “As if. You better have actual Prada next time I come by.”

Emily's patience ran out, and she stopped walking. “There's not going to be a next time,” she said, firmly. “You're going to pay for that dress, and you're leaving, and you're not welcome back.”

Diana handed her credit card over to the (quiet, firmly staring at the floor register clerk), then spun in place. “Excuse me?” she said, leaning against the counter. “You're kicking me out? Do you know who I am?”

It's very difficult to forget,” the clerk said. “And I'm sure we'll remember you next time you try to buy here.”

Diana gaped a moment, then closed her mouth, her bitchface returning. “Bring me your manager, right now,” she ordered, and folded her arms.

Feeling slightly smug, Emily said, “Okay,” and paused a moment. “Alright, I'm the manager, you're still banned.”

Diana's eyes widened and she gasped. “You...how dare you! I'm going to tell my father! And he's...he's going to destroy you!” she spun in place, forgetting her credit card with the clerk, heels clacking as she left, ranting like a lunatic about how much she would destroy their store.

There was a pause, then the clerk behind the register came up, put her hands together, and said, “Thank you, so, so much.


Diana was still fuming, ten minutes later, as she trotted around the shopping complex a few blocks away. Englander's was the classiest place in the district, and she had only a few days to get a sexy little number for the dance this weekend. She had settled for the downtown department stores, which were still high-class, but she hated coming down here.

She felt a little bad about yelling at the woman, but mostly because she realized she was too critical about the dresses and now was stuck without the store. And as she strutted around the block, she realized she might have made a huge mistake.

The shops were all painfully boring. She saw dresses she liked, but nothing that really popped, nothing that jumped out at her.

She was just about to settle for one of the department stores when she saw a store she had never seen before – it was a little hole-in-the-wall shop, on a long stretch of unremarkable, flat wall.

Diana glanced around, double checking her placement. That was not there a few months ago, was it? She thought, glancing around.

Curious, she crossed the street. The store looked like an eccentricities shop, with all sorts of tasteless, cheap garbage like necklaces made out of polished rocks and leather, or statues hand-crafted out of stone and wood. But, curious where it came from and what kind of trash it was filled in, Diana went in anyway.

It was as she had predicted, but much more retro-goth. All sorts of weird pentagrams and demonic art and stuff that, were she a few years younger, she'd think was 'cool.' Instead it looked just tacky and stupid.

Pushing aside a 'door' of dangling beads, an old man came through. He had white hair, tied into braids and dangling down to his back, and his body was covered in aged, faded tattoos of the same demonic art he was peddling. He gave her a smile, and said, “Hello, can I help you find anything?”

She made a noise in the back of her throat. “I doubt it,” she said, looking around. “This crap is hardly worth my time.”

I think you might be surprised,” the man said. “I own this store, and I specialize in materials that ladies such as yourselves might like.”

His confidence was curious, and she sighed, hand at her hip. “Fine. Got any dresses? Black, sexy?”

The owner thought a moment, taking in a breath and looking up as he flipped through his mental index, and he suddenly realized something. “Ah,” he said, pointing. “I have just the thing.”

He directed Diana down the store's main area, into a left turn, where there were mannequins holding up dresses. “This one, the black one, on the right,” he said, and she turned to regard it.

On the mannequin was a dress that – much as Diana hated to admit it – was exactly what she was looking for. It had a nice cut of skirt right above the knee, it hung off the shoulders but also had a dip in the chest to expose her a little, it had a deep back but not enough to bother anyone uptight enough to speak up, and it looked sexy and sleek.

She put a hand out and rubbed her fingers on the fabric. It felt even better than it looked – a nice, soft velvet that felt even better than the best Prada she'd ever bought.

Can...I try this on?” she asked, a little too stunned to just demand to.

Of course, down the hall,” he said, and she at once pulled it over the mannequin's torso.

She slipped her dress off and instantly slid into it, and couldn't believe how good it felt and looked. It was snug, even down to the legs where it hugged her hips, but just roomy enough to let her breathe. It was perfect in every way.

She wanted so badly to wear it out, but she knew she had to hold onto it for the dance – it was her pathway to getting Cykeem to talk to her, after all, and if she wore it now, she'd risk being seen in it. She wanted to blow minds this Saturday.

She strutted out, velvet dress in arm, and walked up to the register, putting it down. “It's alright, I guess,” she said, trying to hide her excitement. “I'll take it.”

Of course,” he said. “How will you be paying for this today?”

She reached into her bag, and realized she didn't have her credit card.

Oh, shit,” she said, blinking. “I totally forgot my credit card at the other store!”

That's quite alright,” the store owner said, smiling. “Would you like me to sign you up for one of our credit lines? You can repay the cost of the dress later, and we'll keep you on file.”

Oh, sure, whatever, just so long as I get the dress,” she said, waving a hand.

He brought out a small form, and she quickly jotted down her information. It's not like the cost of the dress mattered to her, her father had more money than most of the city, she could pay it off later when the bill showed up. She ignored most of the print, shrugging it off as yet another credit card.

When she was done, the man smiled, nodding. “Good, good,” he said, nodding. “So long as we're talking about this, this clothing line does have a matching lingerie set, too, made out of similar material. Can I-”

No, no,” she said, waving her hand. “Don't try and upsell me, thank you, this will be fine.”

She felt gross about some old man selling her sexy underwear, and she already was starting to wonder if the changing room had a camera or something.

Well, if you change your mind,” he said, and handed her the bag with her dress in it. “I'll be here. Thank you very much.”

She reached out for the bag, and he pulled it back. “Oh,” he said, as though it had just occurred to him. “One bit of advice. Don't wear the dress too much.”

Sure, whatever,” she said, and reached out to snatch her new prize from his hands.

Don't forget!” he said, as she turned to leave. “Have a nice day.”


Her chauffeur slid the Mercedes into the parking space of her father's million dollar mansion, and she – as usual – patiently waited for him to open the door for her.

Here you are, Miss Pence,” he said.

She ignored him. She couldn't even remember what his name was.

Diana strutted out of her garage, multiple shopping bags in hand (she wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to buy some jewelry while she was in the district, after all) and into her kitchen, where her maids and caretakers were already working.

Good afternoon, Ms. Pence,” her maid said, a heavyset middle aged woman with a thick Latina accent. “Your father is busy, says he will be out of town a lot on his election campaign.”

Of course he is,” she said, with a shrug. She wasn't even surprised when her father was gone for long stretches at the time. Pence was a leading politician for her state, and as such was constantly busy, flying out as part of his campaign to gain re-election.

Her mother, naturally, went with him. It helped when you were catering to the state's conservative, family values and showed up with your wife and kid. She wouldn't have minded going, but she was close to graduating and it would have messed up her grades, which was very important. They expected her to excel, and move into politics just like them.

Not like them being gone is all bad, she thought. Been alone a lot since I was a kid, I always amused myself.

She marched up the stairs, to her room, where she at once slipped the dress back on. She felt incredibly lucky to have picked it up. She stared at herself in the mirror openly, soaking in how her lithe, small frame was accented so wonderfully by the slinky, sexy dress.

Diana couldn't wait for the dance.

She couldn't wear it yet, though. No no no, not yet. She had to dazzle and astound when she showed up. Really knock people dead. Cykeem, especially. He was an astonishing cut of meat, and she wanted to make sure she was noticed so she could play hard to get. And so, with great pain, she hung it in her closet. The thing was staring at her as she went about her day, and she tried not to think about it.

Soon, soon I'll put it on again.


The days crawled by. She had five entire school days before the dance, and it was torture waiting this long, trying to bat her long eyelashes at Cykeem. She wished she had a big ass, she could buy some cutoff jeans with frayed edges and wiggle her sexy legs and rump at him. He was into that, she knew.

It's not that he wasn't looking at her – Cykeem was a gorgeous brown skinned man with an amazing smile and a cut torso from his football playing, and he'd already had brief flings with the cheerleaders. He was a moral, upstanding guy, but he was also a tail-chaser, and she knew she could have him eating out of her palm in enough time.

But it was torture waiting that long. Diana spent many days going home, rubbing her hands over the dress and thinking about putting it on, just for a bit. But the danger of spilling something or tearing it was scary, and she refused to. The dress was too perfect.

And so, thankfully, the dance came up – it was a fall event, so the whole ballroom she had helped pay for (with her dad's money) was covered in oranges and tans, with a mist machine sputtering all over the floor. A few attendants – teachers, naturally – were lining the room, planning on paying close attention to the proceedings.

Teenagers of all stripes lined the room, clad in their best fall wear – lots of slinky dresses, of all colors, and the boys were usually clad in cute button ups or dress shirts. There was a cheerleader squad as usual, and they were dressed in similar white, fake fur lined dresses and frills lining the arms and skirts. Most notably, the hottest girl in the school, a statuesque blonde called Ashley, had a form-fitting dress that outlined her large breasts and lengthened her already dynamite legs.

Cykeem was standing with his friends at the back, sipping at the (unspoiled) punch and laughing about something boys could only laugh about. He was dressed sexy as hell, with his carefully kept cornrow hair tied up in the back and a dress shirt doing a miserable job of hiding his muscles.

Diana strutted in with the velvet number, and she could tell she was wise to hold the dress back.

Eyes went to her almost immediately, and at first there was a lingering, worried sensation of being too revealing. She thought, for a flash, that the skirt was cut too high and the top was too low, even though it made a nice line of cleavage and created the illusion of bigger breasts and made the curve of her ass a little more pronounced, but the feeling was quickly swallowed as she looked around, noticing all the boys staring – not just looking, but really staring – at her body.

She smiled, and begun to saunter into the room, making sure her hips did a little swaying as she did. A warm touch came to her core. She felt really, really sexy. For the first time in a while. She was pretty, sure, and she made sure her makeup was spot-on and detailed, but she never really felt...hot. She was too thin for that. But the dress was doing all the work for her body.

Diana met with her group – most of which were just friends she had had the last two years, but some were contacts she knew would be useful in her political career she was being groomed for – and made sure to bat eyes at Cykeem as she did.

Woah,” one of her friends said, a wide-hipped Latina woman named Sofie said, glancing at her dress. “That is...” she whistled and said something in Spanish. “You sure you're not gonna get in trouble for this? Because, man.”

Nah, I'll be fine,” she said. And she would. She would not let this dress go, and if anyone gave her shit for it, well, her phone was in her pocket, and one call from her dad was all it would take.

The fuck did you get that,” her Korean best friend, Sonwoon said. She was also slim and cute, much like Diana, but she also had the Asian beauty thing going on, and her face didn't have the high cheekbones of her parents, making her very cute and very, as the boys said, 'exotic.' “It's hot as hell!”

Oh, a little corner shop,” she said, coyly. She wasn't about to let slip where she got it, especially not when the sexy little underwear the shopkeeper promised sounded like a good idea right now.


The social gatherings continued on as cliques formed, school associates meeting with friends and friend circles rejoining. Eventually, one of the teachers got a headcount and realized it was the entire grade, and signaled to the DJ – the janitor, Jones, a husky guy who was extremely well known for his musical knowhow – who at once begun to queue up music.

Hiphop, dance, and electronica begun to pump out of the speakers, and everyone at once moved to the center, cutting various types of rugs. Diana, as white and suburban as they came, had little idea what to do, but she eventually picked up the slack, jumping up and down and flicking her arms and legs out in all directions and getting nice and loose as she picked up.

After a few songs, slower music begun to play – some R+B from an artist she didn't know – and she was just about ready to sit down for a few while her tired legs recovered when she felt a hand grab onto her wrist, ever so gently, and tug on it.

Cykeem was smiling at her, giving small glances down at the line of cleavage the velvet number was making, and he said, “Not going yet, are you?”

Diana's heart fluttered, and she ignored the dull ache in her legs and said, “No, not at all.”

Cykeem's giant hands wrapped around her waist and brought her close, and she thought she was going to have a tiny orgasm right then and there, but she fell against him as they begun to sway together to the music.

About halfway through, she heard the dull, heavy sound of him laughing a little.

Hm?”

I'm not used to dancing like this,” Cykeem said, with a low laugh. “You should see my family parties. Dancing is pretty different there.”

Aww, poor baby,” she said, and some of her sarcasm kicked in. “Must be so difficult to be like us white people and have to fake that you can't dance.”

He chuckled again, and his hands slipped a little lower, coming a bit further down to her hips. “Mmm, it's worth it,” he said, holding eye contact, and gave her a smile.


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