One morning in late Spring, Geraldine Courtline burst into her cousin's bedroom, and complained as bitterly as usual as she stood before the full length wardrobe mirror surveying her appearance.
"I'm devastated, Sybil. I have absolutely nothing to wear for going into town. You'll have to go without me."

  Sybil Grange continued to apply crimson to her lips, glancing at her cousin in the mirror to see that today's tantrum centred round the red and gold silk dress she had tried on. "I'm wearing a skirt and top, darling," she said, rolling her lips together to see the outcome.

  "Tops. That's what I need," said Geraldine, collecting Sybil's black and white print from the back of the armchair and holding it against herself. She arched her back to emphasize her bust, as if it needed emphasizing, and lifted her chin to see how dashing her newly built-up auburn hair-do was with its subtle highlights.

  Her cousin pulled her hairbrush hard through her own blond bob, making sure it dipped attractively onto the back of her neck, with its glossy flicks curled under.
"Put it down, darling," she said, moving on to her eye makeup. "You know how blouses are your thing. You wear them like an angel wears her wings. Look at how stunning you were at the mayor's party last week. The only reason the doctor could keep his hands off you was because his wife was watching from two tables away."

  "I was wearing your chiffon blouse, Sybil. I'm absolutely fed up with all of mine. Anyway, a blouse needs a skirt, and I haven't got any."

  Her cousin giggled but kept still for her mascara. "You've got two wardrobes bursting with lovely things, honey. Nearly as many as me."
"Last year's, dear. Or the year before. We'll have to pay Constance a visit."

  Geraldine put her cousin's top down again and joined her at the dressing table. She seized Sybil's phone. "I'll call her now and arrange for a fitting."

  Sybil Grange had dozens of skirts; expensive ones which she was very happy with, but she was always game for adding more, and anyway one of her pleasures in life was to humour her impetuous younger cousin. The ten year gap between Sybil and Geraldine put them just on the wrong side of 50 and 40 respectively, and told any would-be suitors that they had no interest in marriage: they would enjoy life on their own terms. Sybil crossed to the wardrobe to select a skirt.

  "About five or six skirts each," Geraldine was saying into the phone; "we can be there in twenty minutes. It's just that I haven't got a single skirt in this year's colours. The usual length, of course, well below the knee, and fully lined. We don't understand women who try to wear fly-away, unlined skirts." She listened with added interest, then flapped a hand to signal her cousin to stop dressing.

  "Sending them out to us. Oh darling, that's so good of you." She turned her voice to Sybil. "Constance is sending a selection of skirts for us to choose from." Then, into the phone: "but Constance, honey, the girl you sent to us last time was as much use as bunjee suspenders. I hope she'll express just one or two small opinions while we're changing." Her eyebrows rose as she listened. "Oh! A new assistant! Well, that's encouraging, honey, and we'll give her a warm welcome. Goodbye."

  She dropped her cousin's phone on the armchair and headed for the door. "A new assistant, and she'll be here in twenty minutes, darling, with a couple of new ranges from Paris. We'll have to buy generously; I must have a sort out and clear some of my old skirts into the wardrobes in the West Wing."
Her cousin grinned as she finished fastening her blouse and stepped into her skirt. "I suppose I'd better do the same," she said. "The least we can do is give the girl a good start."

  When the doorbell rang, Geraldine crossed the hall before the maid and sent her back to the kitchen. This afternoon she wanted to run the show without interference.
There was a young man standing at the door, with a small car behind him at the bottom of the steps.

  "Yes? What do you want ?"
He was wearing a dark suit and waistcoat, with a white shirt and red tie jumping out at his neck, the picture of a college freshman making a brave impression in his first interview.

  "Hello. Is this The Shades? Miss Geraldine Courtline's residence?"
Geraldine wasn't used to hearing the full length of her name. In this young man's mouth, it almost sounded part of the marriage ceremony as she noticed every detail of his face: how neatly he had combed his dark hair into a parting; how smoothly his peaches and cream cheeks ran into his soft jaw. Was he shaving yet?

  "I am Geraldine Courtline," she said, one eyebrow lifting, as if to add: "so what on earth could you want with me?"

  There was a hesitation, and the young man's eyes dropped appreciatively to Geraldine's black court shoes.
"Goo... good afternoon, Miss Courtline. I've brought some skirts from Mode Ladieswear."

  Geraldine was never caught for words, but on this occasion she found herself swallowing. Choking even, but she turned the moment into a slight cough, then a smile. "How lovely. Miss Constance Couture's sales representative." She put her tongue in her cheek to prevent a growing smile. "And your name is...?"
"Armand. Armand Flowers, ma'am."

  Geraldine smiled faintly and stood back, the way a spider invites a fly into its parlour. "You had better come in," she said.

  The young man stepped forward to follow, but stopped as the lady of the house held the door open after him. She smiled as he turned to her. "Aren't you forgetting something, young man?" she said. There was a tremble on his lips. "Oh," he remembered. "Thank you, Miss Courtline."

  Geraldine folded her arms across her blouse. "The skirts, Mr Flowers."

  The boutique representative put his hand to his cheek. "Oh yes, ma'am," and his face was the colour of damsons as he trotted out again and down the steps.

  His car was a two-door affair and he opened the passenger side, folded the seat forward and practically disappeared behind curtains of hanging skirts. Geraldine stepped into the hall and stood at the foot of the banister.

  "Sybil," she called from the mirror, checking her hair, her beads, her lipstick and eyes; thank goodness she had put on her bow blouse in coral pink; it brought out her complexion and went so well with her dove grey button-down skirt, "you had better come down here. I have something I want you to see." She was back at the door as the young man came up the steps carrying half a dozen hangers of heavy skirts in each hand.

  "I'll have to come back for the rest, ma'am," he said. He reached Geraldine at the same moment that her cousin arrived beside her.

  An attractive young man, carrying a dozen skirts into the house, and a grin of undisguised lust on her cousin's face, showed Sybil Grange the full situation. Geraldine introduced the visitor.
"Sybil, Mr Flowers is here to help us choose some skirts this morning. Isn't that nice?"

  Her cousin fought to control a smile. "That's very nice," she said. "How old are you, Mr Flowers?"
"Nineteen, Miss Grange."
Her eyelids closed, or at least fluttered in a momentary loss of control.
"And how long have you been at Mode Ladieswear?"

  The young rep's eyes dropped as he answered. "This is my first day, Miss Grange."

  The women exchanged looks. "I see. Well, I hope you will make a good job of your duties," said Sybil. "You can bring the skirts upstairs, if you wouldn't mind."

  Geraldine waited by the door. The fellow's car door was wide open after all, but she needed time to plan her strategy for getting him undressed and into full 'cooperation' mode. Her heart was pattering. She and Sybil were well practised in drawing out a man's vulnerability. Young Armand Flowers, she calculated, would fall heavily into being mothered by two attractive women in their forties. When he came down the stairs again, she went into strict mother-figure mode.

  "Don't run on the stairs, Mr Flowers. You'll trip and hurt yourself."
The rep stood still, his eyes lowered to the buttons of her skirt. "I'm sorry, Miss Courtline. I..."
"Well come along. Fetch the rest or we will never get started. We have a lot of skirts to try on."

  It was another ten minutes before Armand Flowers had his full range of thirty skirts hung on display in Sybil's bedroom, and he had been getting more anxious as each minute passed. His breathing was becoming heavy, with pattering heartbeats beneath his waistcoat. Why was he experiencing such vivid emotions that seemed to make him light in the head and languid in his body?

  Maybe it was the delicious perfume that had met him as he brought the second set of skirts into the room. Geraldine had noticed it too; her cousin was evidently intent on a killing this morning: she had treated herself to Exquisite by Lanvin.

  Or... maybe it was all these skirts; these beautiful feminine skirts, which slid like silk and flowed like wine. They brought him pleasure through his fingers and looked so desirable to his eyes. He had actually had to stop himself twice from bringing one of them to his lips to press a soft kiss against the buttons at its waist. The first time it was this bronze silk skirt with smooth chocolate buttons flowing in a line to the parquet floor; the second, it was that long, white pleated skirt near the curtains, with red buttons at the waist and three on each pocket.

  But now, every skirt hung from a double clip hanger, side by side: a wall of skirts surrounding him on the dado rail or door handles, on all sides of the room. He finally finished fastening every undone button and straightening every misplaced pleat, and turned to face his clients as they stood in front of one skirt or another and discussed its finer points.

  "Ahem," he coughed.
Both ladies looked up at him.

  "Er, can I excuse myself, Miss Courtline, so that you can begin your fitting?" he asked.

  His clients exchanged a look. "I beg your pardon?" asked Geraldine.
"Shall I sit in the car until you have finished deciding, ma'am?"

  Geraldine's face turned dark. "You will do no such thing. What would you want to do that for?"
The young man realised he had blundered somehow. "Well, I thought that you... well, I... certainly don't want to seem rude, Miss Courtline."

  Geraldine planted her hands on her hips as she squared up to him. "And what are we supposed to do while the dressing assistant from Mode Ladieswear sits lounging outside in a car? Are we to guess which skirts go best with our blouses?"

  Sybil was wearing a similar look of shock. "Your job is to help us in our fitting, Mr Flowers. You're not just the delivery man, you know. We'll be depending on your personal assistance."

  The young man's jaw was dropping lower.
"Has Miss Couture not given you any training for your visit to us this morning?" said Geraldine. She straightened up with a look of severity and picked up Sybil's phone. "I had better give her a call and ask her to come and give us her personal help."

  "Oh no... no... I didn't understand my duties, Ma'am. Er, Miss Couture didn't have time to tell me. She must have thought I would know. Please give me another chance before you speak to her."

  Geraldine caught the horror on that attractive young face and turned to her cousin, both of them looking sorely put out. "What do you think, Miss Grange?" she asked.
"I think," replied the other, her glossy lips curled as if she had sucked a lemon, "that we could see if Mr Flowers can make a big effort to please us, before we speak to Miss Couture."

  The boutique representative took in a huge breath, and half a minute later, the young man was taking the hanger off a brown pleated skirt in a wool and terylene mix and holding it against Geraldine's skirt, his fingers at either side of her waist.

  "What do you think of it, Mr Flowers?" she enquired. "Does it go with my blouse? Do you like milk chocolate polyester with coral pink silk?"
"I... er..."
"I'll put it on," she said as she laid it over the back of an armchair, "so that you can stand back and give me your opinion. Help me off with my skirt."

  She held out the width of her skirt, before letting it flounce to her sides as she rested her elbows in to her waist with her hands out on either side of her bust.

  Armand Flowers bit his lip to stop it from trembling and looked down the row of marbled grey buttons, each one an inch and a half across. He crouched low, gathered his courage, and held the lowest button of her skirt. He slotted it through its buttonhole and moved his fingers up to the next.

  "Sybil, I like the pale jade skirt hanging near the door," he heard above him. "What gorgeous embroidery on the pockets. It'll go well with my cream satin evening blouse, don't you think. And the maroon circle skirt in sunray pleats. Bring that one too."

  The dressing assistant reached the top button, his face an inch or two from the silk bow on the bust of Geraldine's blouse, as she helped him by undoing her skirt belt and separating its sides.

  "Put it over the back of the sofa, Mr Flowers," she said, pressing the two sides of her waistband into his hands.

  He reached round her waist, his face pressing into her fragrant blouse, so that he could pass it round her back to his other hand. He folded the waist and laid it over the sofa with the row of buttons on top. Sybil passed him the brown skirt.

  Geraldine held his shoulder with one hand as he stooped and presented the skirt for her to step into the beige silk lining. She and her cousin watched as he gathered the lace of her peach slip and threaded it inside the skirt, then she held her arms out of the way as he fitted her blouse reverently inside its waist. She showed him how her zip and waist button went at the back and not at the side.

  "What do you think of it?" she asked him. "Am I attractive in it?" She caught the sides of the pleats and spread them to do a full turn for him, then fluffed her bow and put her hands on her hips. "Would you be attracted to me in a skirt like this dear?"

  "Well," he said, his head feeling light and strangely feminine, "I... I think..."

  Geraldine was impatient. "It's no good," she declared. "There's no mirror in this room so I'll have to see how it looks on you."

  The dressing rep's head dropped for a moment, stunned. He must have misheard. He managed to gather himself but she was undoing the back of her skirt and stepping towards him.

  "Sybil," she said, "help Mr Flowers off with his things: he'll need to wear my blouse as well to show me the combined effect."

  Armand Flowers would have fainted if Sybil hadn't grasped him at that moment from behind, her arms under his, to start undoing the buttons of his waistcoat.

  "Take off your trousers, Mr Flowers," she said, her face next to his and her perfume swirling round his head. "I'll have to remove your shirt; otherwise how could I put you into Miss Courtline's blouse. And Geraldine, Mr Flowers will need a brassiere, suspenders and a pair of stockings and shoes." Her fingers were busy and his waistcoat slipped off. "Take off your tie, Mr Flowers."

  The young man's face burned with shame, or was it a churn of worries, he was so excited at what was happening to him? His trousers came down, his vest was removed, and... oh no!... when she pulled down his boxers, there it was in front of both women: his excited penis, pointing forward.

  The rep spread his hands against the outside of his thighs. The women stopped, surely waiting for him to apologise, but a moment later Sybil stooped at his feet to undo his shoes, her cheek almost touching the offending member, while Geraldine returned with folded, pale pink lingerie.

  "How lucky that your build is so close to mine," she declared as she passed a narrow satin suspender belt round his waist and clipped it together. "Sit on my knee, Mr Flowers; it's the only way I'll be able to roll your stockings up your legs."

  His heart was thumping as she sat on the sofa and presented him with her shiny chocolate lap. At least Miss Grange wasn't taking any notice of his penis; she was choosing blouses out of the wardrobe opposite. His bare buttocks made contact with her cool pleats and he froze, dreading lest he should weigh too heavily on her legs.

  "We have to be very careful with nylons," said Geraldine, threading the rolled up hose over his foot. "They're very delicate and I don't want to waste a pair." Her cool pink sleeves frolled his legs as she fed the stocking up to his thighs and pulled a suspender strap down to meet it. There were two straps at the front and one at his side, pulling on the pale honeyed stocking top. He held his breath as he looked down, knowing that his wretched penis was letting him down, stiffening, standing more upright as the second stocking pulled its tautness up his other leg until it was fully clipped in place.

  "Oh dear," she said to her cousin as Sybil returned with four or five blouses on their hangers, "we have the usual problem. What are we going to do about this stiff little fellow?"

  Sybil's lips pouted as she held the blouses in front of the naked rep and glared at the swollen penis, now surely as upright as it could possibly be. He knew with crimson cheeks that he would be told to get dressed and go, and reported immediately to his employer.

  But Miss Grange's lips softened into a crimson smile. "It looks like Mr Flowers is looking forward to what's coming, darling. What a fine recommendation for his skirts."
"That's true," agreed her cousin, with one hand round the rep's waist while the other closed its fingertips round his vertical shaft, "but what are we going to do about the drape of the skirts? They'll stick up at the front."

  Armand Flowers would have liked to bow out of his duties and get dressed again, but he was having his arms fitted through a pink satinette bra which Sybil hooked together behind his shoulders. "That won't be a problem," she said. "I've got just the thing."

  She set off towards the chest of drawers while Geraldine pulled off her white high heels to try them on Mr Flowers' feet. They were snugly in place when Sybil returned with handfuls of lingerie, so soft and shiny that they slid across the sofa when she laid them down.

  "Step into these, young man," she said, holding a pair of lilac panties in front of his feet. The garment slipped silently up his stockings, and Sybil helped him up so that Geraldine could stand as well. The women fed the panty over his bottom and between them they threaded his erected penis out through the convenient lace-trimmed slot in its crotch. Touching a young, throbbing and very hard penis was always a thrill.

  His fingers failed to muffle a ripple of sobs from his throat.

  "I want Mr Flowers to feel the loveliness of his skirts for us," murmured Sybil, "and this little fellow will tell us exactly how attractive they are."

  The young man's 'little fellow' gave a jump as his stockings felt the slither of her slip and the flutter of her cousin's pleats as Sybil picked up pairs of folded panties and slotted them into the cups of his bra: four on each side until he had two attractive thrusts on his chest. Geraldine, in the meantime, stepped out of her skirt, undid her blouse and slipped it off. A satin slip was dropped over his head and shaken down the length of his body, bringing whimpers from his lips, with a glossy upward point in front of his pelvis.

  His arms were slotted into the wide sleeves of Geraldine's blouse, and there was silence as both women took a wrist and fastened his cuffs, with Geraldine in nothing but her lingerie and Sybil in her soft lemon blouse and white slip. The silk was drawn together over his bust and another whimper escaped his lips as Geraldine fastened his blouse at his throat. She saw the sweet tears welling in his eyes as she buttoned his blouse down to his waist, and lifted his cheeks in the two ribbons of her blouse bow so that he looked at her.

  "Don't be upset, my pet," she said, softly. "I'm very pleased with you. Sybil, isn't Mr Flowers working very hard and doing a wonderful job for Miss Couture?"

  "He has started well, darling," replied her cousin, "but he needs to give us confidence in our choice of skirts. Fasten his bow at his neck and we'll see what we think."

  Geraldine obliged, and a large bow cupped his chin in bright pink as a tear or two ran down to meet it on each cheek.

  He peered over his bow to step into the skirt, held for him by Sybil. It glided up his slip until he had milk chocolate pleats from his waist to his high heels. She buckled the belt for him then stood to one side for her cousin to see the result.

  How wretched his penis was, sticking out like this. No wonder Miss Courtline wore a face like thunder.
"Sit down," she said. "I want to see how the skirt flows."

  Sybil dropped onto the sofa first and patted it where he was to sit beside her.

  "Hold the seat of the skirt with both hands, Mr Flowers," said Geraldine. "I don't want it creased or folded. Spread it to the sides from underneath. Good boy."

  The young man perched on the edge, while Sybil spread his pleats across her own legs. The result was an even taller point in front of his belt, insulting the ladies in their own home.

  "I'm so sorry... Oh please forgive me. I... can't stop it from... feeling excited," he whispered. "I think I would stop embarrassing you if I... took off the skirt..."

  "Nonsense," said Geraldine, leaning over him in her satin slip and fussing the hem of the skirt across its full width. "Keep your shoes together, and your knees. That's better. Mmmm, I like it. I think it's just me and I'm going to tell Constance you make the perfect little dress fitter."

  Beside him, Sybil also did her bit in arranging his skirt. "I agree," she said, "but now it's my turn. I want you in the green skirt and I'll see it paired with my bronze satin blouse."

  Armand Flowers felt a little less worried about losing his job. In fact he began to feel that he didn't want to lose this job. He was getting to like working with skirts and silky slips. He felt intoxicated with pleasure, having ladies like Miss Courtling and Miss Grange undressing him and gathering the next things he was to wear. While he was still in his satin slip, he had to dress Miss Courtline in a striped acetate blouse in black and silver and a wide maroon skirt with fine pleats. Then he helped Miss Grange into a crisp red blouse and the white skirt he loved with its red buttons. He was melting with throbbing, feminine emotions as the ladies dressed him in a white satin blouse with a waterfall frill and the jade green skirt with knife pleats in crisp silk.

  "Let me see the drape of your skirt, Mr Flowers," said Sybil, leading him by a crisp blouse sleeve to where her cousin was sinking onto the sofa in a sizzle of pleats.

  As he turned and held the back of his skirt to sit beside her, his member was aching to release its contents. He mustn't soil the pale green satin lining. He had to hold onto it until his urge subsided, but it was getting stronger... more lovely... with Miss Grange sinking onto the sofa on the other side of him... and soft feminine pleats everywhere.

  "Oh dear," he whimpered, falling back helplessly into Miss Grange's arms, "I must... Ohhh!... I'll have to... stand up!"

  "Whatever for, my pet," cooed Miss Grange, close to his ear. But the visitor was desperate.
"My panties!" he declared. "I'll have to go to the bathroom... pleeeease!"
"Nonsense, dear," declared Miss Courtline. "Let me see your panties."

  Before he could stop her, she slid his pleated skirt up his knees. Off his stockings, and as his penis appeared, it ejaculated.

  A squirt of cream shot onto her neck and another onto her blouse... and another, and another as his penis jerked and jerked until at last it ran out of cum.

  Oh God! What was he to do? "I'm sorry, ma'am. Oh dear! I... I'll c-clean everything," he cried as his penis stood apologetically dripping in his lap.

  "You dear boy," smiled Miss Courtline, with cream running thickly down the inside of her blouse collar. She caught his cheek in her fingers and held him still as she planted a brief kiss on his lips. "You had better start with my neck. Be a darling and lick it off for me."
"And I'll wipe your big brave soldier," said her cousin with a chuckle.

  Armand Flowers would have declined as politely as he could, except that Miss Courtline sat forward and presented him with her neck. How could he refuse to clean it... with his tongue!

  She smelt so sweet, her throat was as smooth as silk, and his tongue slid deliciously this way and that as she held him round the back of his hair and his cheek with both hands.

  A shiver of passion escaped his lips and onto her throat as his organ felt the caress of satin panty. It was impossible for him to stop moaning and bleating with pleasure as his penis was softly wrapped and enclosed in cool, silky lingerie.

  "You want to feel lovely in your nice green skirt, don't you, Mr Flowers?" murmured Miss Grange, putting the panty aside and sliding the skirt lining down so that it covered his naked penis again. "I'm definitely buying this one which you like so much," and she arranged its full width around him, across both their skirts.

  "I love the soft, smooth, satin inside of the skirts you've brought for us today, Mr Flowers," whispered Geraldine as he licked a particularly fragrant part of her neck beneath her ear. "Would you like to wear ladies skirts more often, Mr Flowers?"

  His eyes were looking up into hers from her collar.
"Maybe you would like to have some lovely skirts of your own?"

  He released his lips, wet with cum and saliva. "Y-Yes, I... I think so."

  "Of course you would. And now my blouse, please," she whispered, and sat herself more upright, to cup his head in the elbow of her acetate sleeve. "Start here." She pointed to the large splash of cum over her left breast; "and here too," for somehow, the ejaculate had managed to transfer to her other nipple as well.

  His penis was fully stiffened again as his lips opened and pressed onto her blouse: it was crisp and slippery and wet. As he sucked, a dreadful thing happened. His stiffened, skirt-covered penis was held... no, it was encased... by the descending mouth of Miss Grange, who sank her lips over the dark green pleats, ready to catch any emissions that might pour into his skirt lining. His whimpers hummed onto her cousin's breasts, while ripples of pleasure shuddered through his body. He could barely follow Miss Courtline's conversation on her phone.

  "We'll buy all these skirts, Constance... Ohhhhhh! ... They're very nice and your assistant has been... Ohhhhhhh!... most attentive. There is one thing though: Mr Flowers was wondering if you would mind him buying one or two skirts for himself."

  Miss Grange's tongue fluttered up and down his pleat-covered penis and a whimper of desire squeezed his lips tight on Miss Courtline's breast.

  "Ah, ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!... you would be quite happy if he bought skirts?... Oh, I see, he has a store discount of 30%... which you will raise to 40% in his case. That's so nice of you, Constance, especially since he is being such a good assistant for Mode Ladieswear. Oh! Ohhhhhhh!" She dropped her phone and recovered it from the satin frills of the young man's blouse. "No, don't mind me, Constance." Her fingers gently stroked his cheek as his tongue concentrated on her nipple. "Yes, we would be delighted if he could return next Tuesday. What we want is a range of blouses in crisp silks and crystalised satin. Constance, you're very understanding. I think Mr Flowers won't be back at the salon much before 5 this afternoon. he's been working so hard. Goodbye."

  She dropped her phone and clasped his face in her fingers as she kissed him again and again on the top of his head.

  The rep's stockings parted, and the point of his skirt surrendered its cream to Miss Grange.