Work Text:
Perfect lines.
That’s what Stephanie sees as she watches Emily tug at the waist of her blazer after shrugging it on. She’s had the pleasure of watching Emily dress many times over the past several weeks, almost always as a result of Stephanie undressing her first. She finds it almost as sensual as the preceding acts of lust they share because, despite the three-piece suits and pinstripes that Emily dons like armor, Stephanie knows what lies beneath, both figuratively and literally.
“How do you do that?” she asks from where she sits on the ottoman in Emily’s massive closet.
Emily meets her eyes in the mirror she’s facing and a smile touches her lips. “Do what?”
Stephanie herself has yet to get dressed; her skirt, sweater, and bra are still on the floor in the adjacent bedroom but she’s borrowed one of Emily’s many silk robes. Emily needs to get to the office; it’s late morning following their impromptu tryst. Emily had called Stephanie and told her to meet her at her house in ten minutes and to leave her underwear at home.
Stephanie hadn’t known where Sean was or when he would be back, but Emily’s initial vigor upon her arrival and discovery of Stephanie waiting for her (dressed, but sans underwear, as instructed) and how it gave way after Stephanie’s first quick orgasm to an hour of unhurried lovemaking told her Sean’s absence had been unexpected and could be for an extended period of time.
“How do you look so good in that suit?”
“Baby,” Emily says with a smirk as she adjusts her pocket square, “I don’t look good in the suit; I make the suit look good.”
There’s not much Stephanie can say to that. She swallows thickly, arousal spiking again despite the three releases she was just given and she knows Emily can read it on her by the way her eyes burn into Stephanie’s through the mirror. “Yes, you do,” she says, having to clear her throat to get the words out.
She finishes checking her appearance and turns, taking slow, measured steps toward Stephanie, one hand in the pocket of her slacks until she stops in front of Stephanie.
Stephanie wets her lips and struggles to maintain composure. “It’s so unfair.”
“Why is that?” Emily asks and Stephanie watches as she brings her leg up to prop a gleaming black and white loafer next to Stephanie’s hip on the edge of the ottoman. As she leans down, she licks her thumb and Stephanie braces herself for whatever’s about to happen, but all Emily does is rub at what must be a spot of dirt on her shoe.
“Because,” Stephanie says after taking a shaky breath; if she leaned forward, her face could be between Emily’s legs...again. “I could never look that good in a suit.”
Emily regards her for a moment, then puts her foot back on the floor. “I’ll text you later.”
It’s a jarring, kind of cold response given the electricity that was flowing between them but she’s starting to learn to not take Emily’s bluntness too personally. She’s also learning there’s value in bluntness of her own. “I’m so wet, Em,” she says as she uncrosses her legs and lets the robe slip off her thighs.
There’s value in it because Emily never expects it and it shows in brief surprise that crosses her features before she once again appears stoic but Stephanie already knows she has her.
“One more,” Emily says, predictably, and drops to her knees in front of Stephanie, a sight she will never, ever tire of.
The impeccably tailored blazer gets tossed onto the ottoman next to Stephanie and she watches as Emily undoes the cufflink on her right wrist that she fastened just minutes earlier to neatly roll back her sleeve.
Stephanie parts her legs and leans back, though props herself up. She’s realized she’s going to get to watch Emily fuck her in the mirror and feels herself grow even wetter at the thought. “Just one?” she says, breath already quickening.
Emily’s quick, fingers sinking into Stephanie before she expected them to, and Stephanie’s moan is maybe a little pathetic with how needy it sounds.
“Just one,” Emily confirms, fingers setting a hard, quick pace fucking Stephanie before she ducks her head down to suck on her clit.
She’s already seconds from coming. “We’ll see,” she breathes before throwing her head back to groan as her orgasm rushes through her.
It isn’t just one.
It’s two.
Three, if you count the one Emily gives herself standing in front of Stephanie while Stephanie watches.
Four, if you count the one Stephanie gives herself while watching Emily.
Emily texts her later as she said she would.
306 Broadway, 8:00. Sean will watch Miles.
Stephanie resists immediately Googling what the location is, but she knows it’s somewhere downtown. There’s no information beyond the location and time but Stephanie can fill in the blanks. Meet Emily there.
Stephanie’s filled with excited anticipation as she always is when she knows she is about to see Emily, but it’s heightened this evening with the element of mystery that’s been added.
“You look nice, Mom,” Miles says when she exits the bathroom after finishing her hair and makeup.
“Thank you, Smooch,” she says with a smile and a ruffling of his curls. She hasn’t done much, really. Just a bit more mascara and eyeliner and some lipstick, but she knows it makes a noticeable difference, especially when paired with the light pink dress she’s wearing. She feels kind of like she’s about to go on a date; she wouldn’t mind it if that’s what it was. “Are you ready to go to Nicky’s for a bit?”
It continues to be a surreal experience every time she does to Emily and Sean’s home, even more so when Emily isn’t there. To have to speak to Sean, to thank him for babysitting her son while she goes to have what is surely a sexual rendezvous with his wife is not something she particularly enjoys.
(The speaking to Sean part, not the sexual rendezvous.)
306 Broadway, Stephanie discovers as she parks along the curb, is a nondescript building. It lacks signage and the windows it has have their curtains drawn for the evening.
Emily’s Porsche is there, though, already parked in front of Stephanie’s Suburu, so she knows she’s in the right place.
She checks her appearance in the rear-view mirror once more before she hops out of the car to cross the sidewalk. She’s unsure if she should knock or ring the buzzer (once she notices there’s a buzzer), but the door opens before she decides to do either.
“You’re late,” Emily flatly.
“No, I’m…” Stephanie checks her watch: 8:01 PM. “I’m...one minute late,” she agrees. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Emily says sharply and Stephanie realizes what she’s said; it’s still a habit she’s trying to break. “Well, come in,” she continues as she steps aside to let Stephanie pass.
Stephanie’s brain is still trying to catch up with things: the mysterious location, Emily’s cool greeting, and her appearance (unbuttoned blazer and semi-casual end-of-workday appearance) while she takes in the room she’s stepped into.
It’s a warehouse of sorts, though not cold and gray. It’s lined with racks upon racks of clothing, all of it appearing to be high-end. There are a lot of sequins and sparkles, bright colors and deep, dark tones, dresses, tuxes, and suits.
“This is Dennis’s storage facility,” Emily says as though reading Stephanie’s mind. “Clothes from old photoshoots, fashion shows. Shit like that.”
“Wow,” Stephanie says, still taking it all in as she falls in step next to Emily who’s leading her further and further into the storage facility. “Why are we here, though, if I may ask?”
Emily glances at her and Stephanie can tell she’s trying to hide a smile. “This is Pierre,” Emily says with a nod ahead of them and Stephanie shifts her attention.
There’s a very well-dressed man waiting for them in an open area surrounded by mirrors a few small sofas, benches, dress mannequins, and tables covered with fabrics, scissors, and more of the like.
“Pierre is my bespoke tailor,” she continues as they arrive in his area. “This is Stephanie,” she says as an introduction and Stephanie isn’t sure if she should stride forward and shake his hand or not. They are still an awkwardly far distance apart.
She settles on a wave. “Hello.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he replies; he carries a faint French accent, as though he perhaps spent the first 10-15 years of his life in the country before relocating to the U.S.
“Pierre is going to fit you.”
Stephanie looks up at her, still a bit confused, and furrows her brow.
“For a suit, baby,” she clarifies. She seems to notice the pet name slipped out when it shouldn’t have but when Stephanie looks back, blushing, to Pierre, he’s still just wearing a polite smile.
The numbers finally spring to life in her head, quickly adding up a massive price tag “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Emily says curtly before swatting Stephanie’s rear end to make her yelp and hop forward.
It gets her walking forward and she whips her head around to glare at Emily who is now smiling at her in a way that manages to ease all of Stephanie’s concerns.
“Hello,” she says again after stopping a few feet in front of Pierre.
He only nods and she watches his eyes roam her body; it feels invasive though oddly not violating. “What a figure,” he says to himself after a few seconds.
“I know, right?” Emily’s voice is behind Stephanie and she looks over Pierre’s shoulder to see her approaching and then taking a seat on a couch to Stephanie’s left. “Make her stop traffic.”
There’s a measuring tape draped around his shoulders that Stephanie notices once he starts sliding it off and into his hands. “It will be my pleasure.”
“Now, Ms. Nelson gave me your initial sizes in advance,” he says as he turns toward a rack full of pants, shirts, and jackets on hangers, “so let’s find pieces that you like and then we will get started.”
She wonders, for a moment as she follows him to the options, how Emily had that information to provide. Until she realizes that Emily has had ample opportunities to look at the tags and sizes in Stephanie’s clothing. To look in her closet, if she was so inclined. To map her body with her hands.
She realizes he’s waiting for her to make selections and almost apologizes for her mind wandering, stopping short of it when she feels Emily’s presence behind her.
“This one,” Emily’s smooth voice says as a white blouse passes by Stephanie to Pierre. “Both of these,” followed by two jackets. “And these,” and two pairs of pants.
“Very well,” Pierre says with a smile and Stephanie realizes all of the decisions have been made for her. “I have a dressing area just over here for privacy, if you’d follow me.”
There’s a hand at Stephanie’s back and she melts into it for a second before following him to a cream-colored curtain hanging along the rear wall that gives way to the largest dressing room Stephanie’s ever seen. The selected pieces are hung on an empty rack and Pierre excuses himself, leaving Stephanie alone in the room.
She isn’t surprised when Emily joins her and draws the curtain behind them. She’s equally unsurprised when Emily reaches for the zipper on the back of her dress to draw it down. She watches Emily lean down the mirror and feels her warm, soft lips in the back of her neck she’s exposed by lifting Stephanie’s hair out of the way.
It makes her shiver and she tries not to let her instantaneous arousal be too obvious even as Emily’s hands ease the dress down her arms until Stephanie’s stepping out of it. She watches Emily hang it on a spare hanger and return with the white blouse. Stephanie can already tell it’s been pressed crisp, the lines in the sleeves sharp.
“This is going to be too expensive, Em,” she says as she slips her arms into those crisp sleeves while Emily helps.
Emily just shushes her and watches over Stephanie’s shoulder while she buttons the shirt, stopping a few from the top as Emily’s hands start fiddling with the collar, then smooths her hands over Stephanie’s shoulders.
She’s handed a pair of dark charcoal gray pants and steps into them; by now she knows how this is going and just holds her hands up and out of the way while Emily tucks her shirt in, hands warm and sure as they smooth the rich fabric down Stephanie’s waist to her hips and the tops of her thighs where the shirt ends. For as long as Emily’s hands are down the front and back of Stephanie’s pants making her heart race, they withdraw before bringing her any relief.
The jacket follows and she shrugs into it while Emily smooths its lines and tugs at the cuffs and flaps, evaluating things with a keen eye in the mirror.
It’s a strange transformation, Stephanie thinks as Emily slips her hair out from where it’s caught beneath the jacket’s collar, to see herself dressed this way. She’s compelled to straighten her spine (not that she would ever slouch!) and stand taller, to hold her head higher.
“Perfect,” Emily says, voice in her ear as she reaches around Stephanie’s waist to button the jacket for her.
She finally steps in front of Stephanie, then turns to work more with her collar until it sits how Emily deems is correct. Emily’s focus is intense and it only raises Stephanie’s blood pressure further. Having Emily’s hands on her so much, gliding over her arms, down her torso (she knows Emily didn’t have to move that slowly over her breasts), her hips, her backside, all under the guise of deciding if the chosen pieces were good starting points for tailoring makes her head spin a bit.
“Pierre,” Emily calls, “would you mind running to the office? We need that savoy blue tie they were working on today.”
Stephanie’s heart, already beating at a clip, starts to race.
“Of course,” comes the reply followed by the jingle of keys. “I’ll lock up behind me; shouldn’t be too long.”
“Take your time,” Emily replies, though her voice has dropped considerably in volume as her eyes hold Stephanie’s.
Stephanie parts her lips to question the obvious but Emily’s mouth is on hers before she can ask.
Yes, they really are going to do this here, is the answer she feels as Emily’s tongue slips into her mouth.
“You look amazing,” Emily breathes before kissing Stephanie harder.
She holds tight to Emily’s shoulders to keep her footing. Emily’s hands are everywhere. They follow the same paths they had been so recently, but now they are heavy and greedy, grabbing and pulling at her.
As abruptly as Emily had grabbed her, she retreats, taking a few long steps backward while she unbuttons her own blouse, shucking it and her jacket in one move. There’s a chaise lounge in the corner that she’s heading toward and Stephanie follows, hands moving to shed her own clothing.
“Leave it on,” Emily says...or commands. Or...requests?
She’s staring at Stephanie so hotly she’s not sure she won’t be set on fire as a result.
“Leave it on and fuck me.”
The confidence and power that had been simmering from the way Emily regarded her in the expensive suit rush through her like a drug as she quickens her steps to catch up, hands immediately moving to Emily’s pants to undo them.
“This is a turn-on for you?” she asks; it’s rhetorical but Emily nods anyway as Stephanie pushes her slacks over her hips to fall to the floor.
Neither bothers to deal with Emily’s shoes or get the pants off her completely; Stephanie just puts a hand in the center of her chest and pushes to watch Emily willingly drop onto the lounge behind her and lean back. Her thighs fall open and it takes Stephanie no time at all to make her decision.
She falls to her knees and runs her hands up Emily’s legs until she reaches the heat between them. Together, her thumbs draw a line down the front of her underwear, a black thong that is already soaked. It prompts a whine from Emily and Stephanie glances up to find her, eyes wild and face flushed, staring intently at her.
She thinks back to that morning and all the previous times Emily was in her impeccable suits and what it did to Stephanie to watch her shed the pieces, or adjust them to be more forgiving so she could fuck Stephanie more freely.
It’s with that in mind that she keeps her eyes locked on Emily’s as she withdraws her hands so she can move them to the collar of her shirt and unbutton it where it sits tightly against her throat. There’s a flash of hunger in Emily’s eyes and she unbuttons a second, then a third button, and a fourth until Stephanie knows her cleavage should be visible.
Then her hands are back on Emily, once again running up her thighs. She leans down to let her mouth follow, dropping kisses along the way until her fingers are curling into the scrap of ruined fabric to move it out of her way.
She touches Emily first with her tongue and watches as she slumps further into the lounge.
Her own arousal is maddening, pounding in her ears and between her legs.
She works to hold her composure, though. She wants to maintain the calm power of control Emily seems to so easily wield over Stephanie when their roles are reversed. She teases her, though doesn’t withhold too much, tongue never leaving the wet, swollen flesh that Emily is offering to her more and more desperately as her hips tilt and lift.
She grows hot in the clothing; none of it is remarkably breathable, but Emily’s apparent inability to look away pushes such a basic discomfort far to the back of her mind.
Sometimes, and Stephanie hates to admit it, she lets herself think that maybe Emily doesn’t think about her when they have sex. It’s entirely possible she fantasizes about another person; Stephanie would have no way of knowing.
Except now: right now, Emily is consuming Stephanie’s presence as much as Stephanie is consuming her body, the connection between them right now is more than that of Stephanie’s tongue. Deeper than Stephanie’s tongue even as it reaches inside Emily before being replaced by her fingers as it moves back to her clit.
“Don’t stop,” Emily breathes; she’s anything but quiet but they are alone. Stephanie would never want to silence her anyway. Emily coming undone, unrestrained (well, mentally), and uncaring is a sound that rings a bell deep within Stephanie’s chest.
Of course, she has no intention of stopping. Not while Emily is dripping off her fingers nor while her clit is so swollen she cannot possibly resist capturing it between her lips to suck on it while her tongue continues to work it in her mouth.
Emily’s hands are dug into the chaise; they anchor her while her hips thrust, as Stephanie’s own buck with need, both growing wilder and losing their rhythm until it’s a mad, untamed race to a finish that soaks Stephanie’s hand and makes her groan into Emily as orgasm overtakes both of them.
“Fuck,” Emily says after a few minutes of labored breathing.
Stephanie’s barely moved, Emily’s thigh serving as a pillow while they recover. “Mhm,” she hums in agreement while she gathers herself until she can lift her head.
“Fuck,” Emily repeats, this time with a breathy laugh. She reaches, arm appearing heavy, for her own jacket where it landed on the chaise and fumbles around until she’s tossing the pocket square Stephanie had watched her fold and place that morning down toward her. “You’re a mess.”
It takes her a moment to realize what she means, and then notices and blushes. Raw lust now fading, what they just did starts to let her self-consciousness back in, though she manages not to apologize.
She realizes as she uses the colorful square of fabric to wipe Emily’s arousal first off her face and chin, then off her hand, she doesn’t have anything to apologize for. No one has been offended. In fact, Emily’s watching her like she just gave her the world.
“I guess that means you like the suit?” she says, the realization giving her renewed confidence after a brief moment of faltering.
“I love it,” Emily says, back arching in a stretch that makes her spine pop a few times. “Now take it off.”
“Take it off?” Stephanie looks down at herself and frowns.
“I’m not going to have Pierre tailor that one; it smells like sex.”
That makes Stephanie blush despite the confidence but she does laugh. “Oh, my God.”
“Put on the other one I brought you. There’s a vest with it. And clean that snatch up; I know you’re a mess and he’s going to be face to face with it.”
“What?!”
“He has to be to tailor the pants, baby,” Emily says, brain function and motor control almost back at one hundred percent. “You’ll be wearing the pants,” she adds.
“Oh, thank God,” Stephanie exhales in relief.
Emily laughs but it doesn’t feel as though she’s mocking Stephanie’s ignorance; rather, she seems to be delighted by it. “Now, hurry up.”
Stephanie hasn’t been as physically close to a man as she is with Pierre in a very long time. Her discomfort must be noticeable because Emily’s wearing a very amused look when she turns to look at her while he crouches in front of her, running the tape along her inseam. She’s also highly paranoid as she is wearing no underwear (they were completely ruined) he is spending far too much time inches away from her personal area.
She feels a bit like a rag doll the way he positions and measures her, and it’s a relief when he indicates he’s finished. It was a lot of focused attention on her but, she realizes, the constant discomfort did help move her mind away from replaying the vision of Emily asking Stephanie to fuck her.
The suit, this one black, is covered in chalk marks and pins and she knows Emily’s hands aren’t going to be roaming it any time soon.
“You can change,” Pierre says when he’s finished his work.
“Wait,” Emily says, pushing away from where she’d been leaning against a table, watching his work. There’s a strip of blue fabric in her hand and she takes Pierre’s place in front of Stephanie.
She notices Pierre makes himself scarce, back turned as he busies himself with transferring the notes he’s taken into a computer.
“I need to see if I was right,” Emily says as she slips the necktie around Stephanie’s shoulders.
Emily’s cheeks still hold a faint blush from their recent activity and it warms Stephanie. Neither of them speaks while Emily works on the tie, flipping it under her collar and tying it with easy expertise despite doing it backward. She tucks it until Stephanie’s vest once it’s tied and then tugs on the knot, wiggling it until she deems it correct.
She takes a few steps back to survey the work that’s been done, both her own and Pierre’s, and nods. “I was right. It matches your eyes perfectly.” She smiles.
Stephanie blushes so hard she wishes she could hide but Emily’s smile, both soft and the tiniest bit sensual, stops her from running.
“This is perfect, Pierre, thank you,” Emily says to break the moment. “I’ll help you change; it’s a bitch getting out of these things when they’re full of pins.”
Emily follows her into the changing room and Stephanie’s hit with a maddening dose of deja vu. She expects Emily to initiate something once again but instead, she undresses Stephanie with attentive care until the pieces are hung to be customized.
She helps Stephanie back into her dress with equal care and, once she’s zipped, leans down to draw Stephanie into a slow, soft kiss that makes her sigh from how good it is.
Emily withdraws, hand still framing Stephanie’s face, and she draws her thumb across her lips in a gesture of gentle intimacy and whispers, “You’re going to stop traffic.”
The End