Don't Judge Me Ch. 02

It all happened so fast. You won't judge me, will you?

I was walking half a pace behind Miss Havisham, and a little to the right hand side. Her posture made it clear she didn't expect me to be alongside her and chattering. I was more like a puppy on an imaginary leash, just following her wherever she was taking me.

You might expect my first question would be along the lines of, "I wonder where she's taking me", but that's not what I was thinking. I was in a kind of trance, as though we weren't really going from place to place, just... going. It felt timeless, like dozing in and out of sleep on a long bus journey. My mind just wandered to things within this little world I now inhabited, half a pace behind, and a little to the right of a woman whose name I hadn't even thought to ask, but who had become the center of gravity of this very, very small world.

I felt the breeze up and about my thighs, and whisping around my nakedness under that cute little green skirt. In a semi-conscious train of thought I was wondering why the sensations were so apparent, since underwear doesn't really cover much at the best of times. Some underwear doesn't really cover anything at all, but somehow when you're wearing even a cheeky little thong, you don't get this same sense of the air having intimate access to... very sensitive areas (well, I don't know about you, but that's how it is for me, you know?).

In another barely conscious train of thought I was curiously studying my new... what? Mentor? Jailer? Femme Fatale? I didn't even have a metaphor into which she could slot. I didn't know what her power was over me. I just knew that surrendering to it was the most delicious sensation I had ever encountered, and it made me feel viscerally alive, hyper-conscious, energized like some cartoon character with glowing balls of energy coursing through my veins and ready to be hurled at foes.

Miss Havisham walked with purpose and poise. Her chin was held high, her stride confident and brisk, but unhurried, and her clothes. They were really quite something. My conscious mind started to coalesce around this observation. I took stock of Miss Havisham's clothing and I was amazed.

She wore what appeared to be late nineteenth century Edwardian, or maybe Victorian, detailed, ornate, and remarkably beautiful garments. Over her ruffled, high-collared blouse, with its (dozens of!) dainty mother of pearl buttons, her tailored deep blue/navy jacket was impossibly narrow at her small waist (was she wearing a corset?), and bloomed over her hips to give her silhouette the unmistakable classic feminine hourglass. Its embroidered cuffs an artwork on their own. The long pleated grey skirt swished authoritatively as she strode along on those - oh my god! - those boots!

Those tall, ebony, tightly fitted leather masterpieces laced all the way up the front, to the top of her calves. As they kept sweeping forward with every step I found it difficult to make out all the detailing, but it included finely stitched patterns to accent the seams, and tiny embossed designs of... what? Flowers, perhaps? Or faces, or little creatures. The heel was wide, and just high enough to make her stride purposeful and authoritative, but not so high as to be frivolous. She was a vision.

By the time I had taken in the exquisite outfit, Miss Havisham was indicating a location up ahead. I was surprised we had walked most of the length of the park. a kilometer or more! How long had I daydreamed?

"Here we are. Time to shop", she stated, sweeping forward across what was now a fairly crowded square, toward a long row of market stalls. The sellers were hawking everything from snacks to jewelry, essential oils to board games and amusements, clothing, hats, shoes, gifts, artworks, and of course, tarot card readings. The markets were open on weekends, and were popular. There was a bustling crowd swirling along and through the long row of stalls.

For a brief moment I was self-conscious about my nakedness under my skirt. I realized it was a bit silly, given that I routinely looked for opportunities to show most of it off, but I hadn't ever dared go without underwear altogether. It was a new sensation, and I hadn't time to get used to the idea. Miss Havisham simply strode into the crowd, and I trailed obediently behind her.

She knew where she wanted to go. Had she planned this out? The stall was slightly larger than most. It was overflowing with racks of womens' clothes. It did seem odd that Miss Havisham would be heading to such a stall, because all the clothing was for younger women my age, and there would have been little there to interest a lady of such discerning taste.

But she headed straight to the stall, and people in the now fairly dense throng moved aside to let us through as she, unswerving, proceeded through them without slowing, like an ambulance through traffic. They, apparently not immune to her air of authority. I scuttled along behind, in her wake.

She didn't slow as she crossed the threshold from the crowded pathway into the busy stall. Again, other shoppers melted away as she advanced, so that her movements were never impeded. She stopped suddenly at one rack which, to my eye, was no different to the many others. We were deep inside the stall near its back wall. There was enough room for us to stand between the racks, but for anyone to come past us would have required "excuse me" and some shuffling around. But nobody came through.

Miss Havisham cast an evaluating eye over my body, and reached into the rack decisively several times. She pulled out three dresses and handed them to me.

"Go and try them on", she said, motioning to the change rooms.

The change rooms, of course, were not actually rooms. They were curtained areas about 2 meters by 1 meter. They had two hooks for hanging garments, and a chair. The full-length mirror was near the change rooms on the outside. I was being shooed into the farthest of the three booths.

Once in the change room, away from Miss Havisham's gaze, I suddenly felt different. I started to feel less in that small universe with Miss Havisham at its center, and more back in the familiar world. My head started to spin. I didn't know if I wanted to come back down to earth, but I needed to think through what had happened to me! A list of sensible questions started to form in my mind. Questions about who this woman was, and what she intended to do. Also, questions about what I was doing, and why!

The curtain jerked open. Miss Havisham looked disapprovingly at me, still standing in the booth with three dresses over one arm. Had I been part-way through changing, I would now be exposed to several people shopping behind her!

"What's the holdup, dear? Do you need help with a zipper?" She wasn't tapping her foot, but had her left leg inclined outwards as if she were.

"Oh, I, um... no." I fumbled about. Had I ever said a coherent sentence to this woman? "I'm just... I'll only be a minute".

"Very well", she huffed, retreating and drawing the curtain.

I had to move fast. I didn't want her yanking that curtain open again while I was partly changed. Especially with my lack of knickers!

The first of the dresses was a bold floral print of oranges, pinks, and reds on a black background, which I admired as I hung the others up. It had a modest v-neckline, a fabric waistband, and a fairly full skirt to mid-thigh length. She had picked my size correctly, I noted.

I pulled out my blouse and quickly worked through the buttons, removing it and throwing it on the chair. I left the simple white bra on, and tossed the dress over my head, pulling it down into place before undoing the green skirt I wore underneath. I barely had time to do that before the curtain was open again, just as the skirt fell to my feet. I left it there and stood, in a sense, to attention, held in Miss Havisham's gaze for several long seconds.

The dress was gaping open at the back, of course, because I hadn't time to do it up. With a small scowl at the sight of my bra, she turned me around with one hand, and deftly flicked the clasp open with the other. I was then facing away from the bustle of shoppers behind her, and couldn't see who was being treated to this little show, but without warning she slid the dress off my shoulders. It fell downwards, and only because I had the quick reaction to bend my elbows was I able to catch it before being left nearly naked! As it was, I felt my unfastened bra being slid down my arms as it occurred to me my bottom was now most certainly on display. Miss Havisham didn't slow at all, insisting on getting the bra removed. She whipped it off one arm, which took the dress off with it, and was about to do the same on the other arm which would truly leave me fully naked. It was with an act of rare dexterity that I caught the first dress sleeve just as she dislodged the second one, and I avoided having the whole dress fall to the floor.

I wiggled my arms into the dress and shrugged it back onto my shoulders, immediately feeling far more dressed than moments earlier, albeit the zipper was open enough to reveal the top of my naked bottom, should anyone care to look.

I didn't have time to wonder whether I was allowed to zip it up. Miss Havisham moved straight to the zipper and brought it all the way up to the top in her practical, cursory manner.

"Now, let's have a look", she pronounced, as if nothing had happened. As if I had not almost been left standing naked in a crowded shop. As if she had not virtually stripped me in front of onlookers.

Just so, as if none of that had happened, I turned with a slight flourish, and posed briefly as if for a photograph, for her benefit. This act of obedience, offered in spite of all that had just preceded it, sent a thrumming pleasure through my body. I was back in the zone. I was again waiting for Miss Havisham to instruct me to do something, or say something, an instruction I would eagerly fulfill.

Miss Havisham assessed me the way she might inspect second-hand bric-a-brac before purchasing it. I noticed her bifocal glasses, the reading section of which was currently magnifying my small form for her convenience. Her head tilted back so that she could get a good look. I swished again, side to side, pleased to be modelling for her.

"Right. Now the blue", she announced, once she had finished with me. She motioned me back into the booth. Without any warning, she snapped the zipper all the way to the bottom of its travel as I stepped into the booth, again reveling my bare back and the top of my naked bottom. Then, she jerked the curtain closed.

I felt cheeky and sexy, being handled in this way, and being exposed suddenly and involuntarily with her brisk, rapid movements. For her part, Miss Havisham was completely businesslike, and no-nonsense. My thrills were all happening within my own little bubble.

I lifted the dress over my head. I was completely naked but I knew I had no time to think about that. I grabbed the blue dress, which was a stretchy light-blue, slightly fluffy fabric. I pulled it on like a t-shirt, and no sooner I had my head through the neck-hole and my arms starting to push into the sleeves, the curtain was open again. By now I knew she was doing it on purpose.

I had the garment around my neck, my arms half in the arm-holes, and now I awkwardly tried to crouch a little to reduce my exposure, while fighting to get my elbows in the sleeves. It probably wouldn't have been so hard, except I was hurrying too much, getting myself tangled. For an agony of long seconds I was half-crouched, arms stuck, and that was lifting the dress back up in front of my face, so I couldn't see how many people were stopping and staring at this naked figure with her arms in the air, ineffectively crouching to the side as if that reduced my nakedness.

After what was probably only a short eternity, but an eternity nonetheless, I got my arms in and the dress pulled down over my body. I looked up, and if anyone had been gawking, they had by now turned away and pretended they hadn't seen. There was at least one couple looking suspicious to one side, and two girls about my age who seemed to be exchanging "omg" stares as they moved away.

Miss Havisham was unmoved by my ordeal. She tugged the dress downwards to straighten it, so that the hem settled just above mid-thigh. It hugged my body, revealing every detail of my shape. I caught a glance in the mirror, and although Miss Havisham didn't seem to notice, I could see that in this dress, my breasts would look better with a bra. You know, I'm not huge, but with a dress like that it's kind of obvious if you don't have a bra.

After the same series of appraisals and inspections, Miss Havisham dismissed me once again.

"Next", she said.

And did I object? Not one bit. I was secretly looking forward to the next curtain-pull, actually. Don't judge me, ok?