Martin is a business consultant who has romantic encounters
Martin pushed through the heavy glass doors of the Men's Warehouse just after lunch, the bell above the frame giving a soft chime that felt oddly intimate in the quiet store. The air smelled of cedar, new wool, and a faint trace of citrus polish. He had come straight from the airport, still carrying the faint scent of jet fuel and the memory of Sophia’s perfume on his collar. His old suit had seen too many flights; the fabric at the elbows was beginning to shine, and the shoes were scuffed beyond rescue. He needed something fresh for the next round of client meetings.
A soft voice greeted him from the far end of the rack.
“Afternoon. Looking for anything in particular?”
Martin turned. The woman approaching him moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent decades fitting men into their best selves. She was in her early fifties, tall, with silver-streaked auburn hair swept into a loose chignon. Her charcoal pencil skirt hugged her hips without being tight, and the cream silk blouse she wore was open at the throat, revealing a delicate gold chain that rested against sun-warmed skin. Her name tag read “Evelyn.”
“New suit and shoes,” Martin said. “Something that travels well.”
Evelyn’s eyes flicked over him once, not in judgment but in careful assessment. “You have the build for a slim cut. Let me pull a few options.”
She led him past rows of navy and charcoal, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor. Every movement was measured, graceful. When she reached for a hanger high on the rack, the hem of her skirt lifted just enough to show the lace edge of a stocking. Martin looked away, but the image lingered.
Evelyn returned with three suits draped over her arm. “Try these. Dressing rooms are just through there. I’ll bring shoes once you’ve chosen a jacket.”
Martin stepped into the small room, leaving the curtain half open so he could hear her moving outside. He slipped out of his travel-worn blazer and into the first jacket. The wool felt cool and substantial against his shirt. He turned, checking the fit in the three-way mirror.
“Need a second opinion?” Evelyn asked from just outside.
“Please.”
She stepped in without hesitation, her presence filling the small space. Her fingers smoothed the shoulders, tugged gently at the hem, then traced the line of the lapel. Martin could smell her perfume—something warm and floral, like roses left in a sunny room.
“Turn for me,” she said.
He obeyed. Her hands settled at his waist, adjusting the fit with practiced ease. When she stepped back, her gaze met his in the mirror.
“Better already. The color suits your eyes.”
Martin felt heat rise at the base of his throat. “Thank you.”
Evelyn smiled, small and knowing. “Shoes next. Sit here.”
She guided him to a low leather bench near the mirror. A moment later she returned with three pairs of oxfords in different shades. She knelt in front of him, her skirt stretching across her thighs as she settled onto the padded stool opposite.
“Left foot first,” she said.
Martin lifted his foot. Evelyn slipped the old shoe off, her fingers brushing his ankle through the sock. The touch was brief, professional, yet something in the way she lingered made his pulse quicken. She slid the new shoe onto his foot, then reached for the laces.
Her knees parted slightly as she leaned forward to tie them. The movement was natural, unhurried, but it caused her skirt to ride higher. Martin caught a glimpse of bright yellow beneath the charcoal fabric—silk panties, delicate and vivid against her skin. The color was unexpected, almost playful, and the sight sent a slow wave of warmth through his chest.
Evelyn’s fingers worked the laces into a neat bow. She glanced up once, catching his eyes, and the corner of her mouth lifted in the faintest smile. She did not adjust her skirt. Instead she shifted her weight, and the view remained—yellow silk framed by the dark hem, the lace tops of her stockings just visible where the skirt had crept upward.
“Comfortable?” she asked, voice low.
Martin swallowed. “Very.”
She repeated the process with the right foot, again letting her knees open. This time the movement felt deliberate, though nothing in her expression suggested anything but calm professionalism. When she finished the second bow she rested her hands on her knees for a moment, skirt still high, before rising with fluid grace.
“Walk for me,” she said.
Martin stood, the new shoes feeling light and precise. He took a few steps, turned, and caught Evelyn watching him with quiet appreciation.
“Those will do nicely,” she said. “Now the suit. Let’s see how the trousers sit with the shoes.”
She followed him back to the dressing room. Martin changed into the matching trousers, leaving the curtain open a few inches. Evelyn waited outside, humming softly—an old standard he recognized but couldn’t name.
When he stepped out she circled him once, adjusting the break of the trousers over the new shoes. Her fingers brushed his calf, then higher, smoothing the fabric along his thigh. The touch was light, but it lingered just long enough to feel intentional.
“Perfect,” she murmured. “You wear confidence well.”
Martin met her eyes. “You make it easy.”
Evelyn’s smile deepened. She stepped closer, reaching up to straighten his tie. Her knuckles grazed his throat, and he felt the warmth of her breath against his jaw.
“I have a few more pieces that might interest you,” she said. “A cashmere overcoat, perhaps. Something for cooler flights.”
“I trust your judgment.”
She led him to a quieter corner of the store where a rack of outerwear stood beneath soft lighting. Evelyn ***********ed a charcoal coat and held it open for him. Martin slipped his arms into the sleeves, and she settled the collar against his neck with both hands. Her fingers remained there a moment longer than necessary, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below his ears.
“Turn,” she said again.
He did. Evelyn’s hands moved down the front of the coat, fastening the buttons one by one. When she reached the lowest button her knuckles rested against his stomach, and she looked up at him through her lashes.
“You have good posture,” she observed. “Most men slump after long flights.”
“Habit from client meetings.”
Evelyn’s fingers lingered at the button. “I imagine you spend a lot of time on planes.”
“More than I’d like.”
She stepped back, studying the full effect. “Then you need something that feels like home when you land.”
Martin glanced at the mirror. The coat fit perfectly, framing the suit beneath. Evelyn stood just behind him, her reflection meeting his eyes.
“Would you like to see the accessories?” she asked.
“Please.”
She guided him to a glass case of ties and pocket squares. Evelyn ***********ed a deep burgundy silk tie and held it against his chest, then a softer navy one. She draped each across his shoulder in turn, her fingers brushing his collarbone with every adjustment.
“The burgundy brings out the warmth in your skin,” she said. “But the navy feels more… intimate.”
Martin chose the navy. Evelyn folded it neatly and placed it in a small bag along with the pocket square she had paired with it. Her movements were precise, almost ritualistic.
While she rang up the purchases, Martin watched the way her hands moved—confident, graceful, the same hands that had tied his laces and lingered at his throat. He wondered how many men had stood exactly where he stood, feeling the quiet pull of her attention.
Evelyn handed him the receipt. “I included my card,” she said. “In case you need alterations or… further assistance.”
Her eyes held his for a beat longer than polite. Martin slipped the card into his wallet, feeling the weight of the small rectangle like a promise.
“Thank you, Evelyn.”
She smiled, slow and warm. “Safe travels, Martin. Come back when the suit needs pressing.”
He left the store with the bags in hand, the new shoes clicking against the sidewalk. The afternoon sun felt brighter, the air sharper. Inside his pocket, Evelyn’s card pressed against his fingers. He already knew he would return—not just for the suit, but for the way she had looked at him while her knees parted and yellow silk caught the light.
Back at the hotel, Martin hung the new suit in the closet and set the shoes on the rack. He showered, letting the hot water ease the stiffness from travel. When he stepped out, the city lights were beginning to glow beyond the window. He opened his laptop, intending to review the next day’s schedule, but his thoughts kept drifting to the dressing room, to Evelyn’s fingers on his laces, to the deliberate way she had let him see.
He pulled her card from his wallet. The store number was printed in clean serif type, and beneath it, in smaller ***********, a handwritten note: Call after hours if you need anything.
Martin stared at the words for a long moment. Then he reached for his phone.
The line rang twice before Evelyn answered.
“Men’s Warehouse, Evelyn speaking.”
“It’s Martin,” he said. “From earlier.”
A soft pause, then her voice warmed. “I thought you might call.”
“I wanted to thank you again. The suit feels right already.”
“I’m glad. You wear it well.”
Another pause, comfortable rather than awkward.
“Would you like to come by tomorrow after closing?” she asked. “I could show you how to care for the wool. And perhaps try on the coat again, just to be certain.”
Martin’s pulse quickened. “I’d like that.”
“Eleven o’clock. The back door will be unlocked.”
“I’ll be there.”
He ended the call and set the phone down. Outside, the city hummed with evening traffic. Inside, anticipation settled warm and steady in his chest. The teasing had begun the moment Evelyn’s knees parted on that low stool, and Martin already knew he wanted to see where it would lead.
The next evening he arrived at the store five minutes early. The front lights were off, but a soft glow came from the back room. Martin knocked once on the service door. It opened almost immediately.
Evelyn stood in the doorway wearing the same charcoal skirt and cream blouse, but the top two buttons were undone now, revealing the edge of a lace camisole. Her hair had been released from the chignon and fell in soft waves around her shoulders.
“Come in,” she said.
He stepped inside. The store felt different at night—quiet, intimate, the racks of suits like silent witnesses. Evelyn led him past the sales floor to a small office with a leather couch and a low table. A bottle of wine and two glasses waited there.
“I thought we could toast your new wardrobe,” she said.
Martin accepted the glass she offered. Their fingers brushed. Evelyn’s touch lingered, her thumb tracing the back of his hand once before she withdrew.
They sat on the couch, close enough that their knees touched. Evelyn crossed her legs, the movement slow, deliberate. The skirt rode up again, and Martin caught another glimpse of yellow silk. She did not adjust it.
“You noticed yesterday,” she said softly.
Martin met her eyes. “I did.”
Evelyn smiled. “I wanted you to.”
She set her glass aside and reached for his tie—the same navy one she had chosen. Her fingers loosened the knot, then slid the silk free from his collar. She folded it neatly and set it on the table.
“May I?” she asked.
Martin nodded.
Evelyn’s hands moved to his shirt buttons, opening them one by one. Her knuckles brushed his chest with each movement. When the shirt hung open she leaned forward and pressed a kiss just above his heart. The contact was feather-light, yet it sent heat spiraling through him.
She stood and stepped between his knees, then slowly lowered herself onto his lap. The skirt bunched around her hips, and Martin felt the warmth of her through the thin silk. Evelyn’s hands framed his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
“I’ve been thinking about you since you walked in yesterday,” she confessed. “The way you looked at me when I tied your laces. The way you didn’t look away.”
Martin’s hands settled at her waist, feeling the smooth fabric of the skirt and the heat beneath. “I couldn’t look away.”
Evelyn rocked forward, pressing closer. Her lips found his—slow, exploratory, tasting of wine and something sweeter. Martin kissed her back, hands sliding up her back to cradle her shoulders. She tasted like patience and promise.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark. “Stand for me.”
Martin obeyed. Evelyn unbuckled his belt, then lowered his zipper with deliberate care. She pushed his trousers and briefs down together, freeing him. Her hand wrapped around his length, stroking once, slow and firm.
“Sit again,” she whispered.
He did. Evelyn hiked her skirt higher and straddled him, the yellow silk now the only barrier between them. She rocked against him, the slick heat of her sliding along his cock through the thin fabric. Martin groaned, hips lifting to meet her.
Evelyn reached between them and pulled the panties aside. She sank down in one smooth motion, taking him deep. They both gasped at the sudden closeness. She stayed still for a moment, letting him feel every inch, then began to move.
Her rhythm was unhurried, hips rolling in slow circles that made Martin’s breath catch. Evelyn’s hands rested on his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his skin. She leaned forward and kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue sliding against his in time with her movements.
Martin’s hands found her ass, squeezing gently as she rode him. The couch creaked softly beneath them, the only sound in the quiet store. Evelyn’s breathing grew faster, her inner walls tightening around him. She came with a soft cry, forehead pressed to his, thighs trembling.
Martin followed seconds later, pulsing deep inside her. Evelyn held him through it, kissing his jaw, his temple, the corner of his mouth.
They stayed joined for a long moment, hearts slowing together. Evelyn eventually lifted herself off him and settled beside him on the couch, her skirt still bunched at her waist. She reached for the wine and took a sip, then offered the glass to Martin.
He drank, tasting her on the rim.
Evelyn traced idle patterns on his bare chest. “I close early on Thursdays,” she said. “If you’re in town.”
Martin turned his head to look at her. “I’ll make sure I am.”
She smiled, the same slow, knowing smile that had started everything. “Good. I have more suits to show you.”
Martin laughed softly. “I’m sure you do.”
They finished the wine in comfortable silence, the city lights glowing beyond the office window. When it was time to leave, Evelyn walked him to the back door. She kissed him once more, lingering, then pressed something into his hand—a small square of yellow silk.
“Keep these,” she said. “For luck on your next flight.”
Martin slipped the panties into his pocket, feeling the warmth of them against his fingers. He stepped out into the night, the new suit hanging in its garment bag over his arm, the memory of Evelyn’s touch still humming beneath his skin.
Back at the hotel he hung the suit carefully, then lay on the bed with the yellow silk in his hand. He closed his eyes and let the evening replay—the dressing room, the laces, the deliberate parting of her knees, the slow, deliberate way she had taken control. The teasing had only just begun, and Martin already knew he would return for more.
The following week, when his flight landed, Martin went straight to the store. Evelyn was waiting, the back door unlocked, a new suit already hanging in the office. This time she wore a deep emerald blouse that made her eyes look even warmer. She helped him into the jacket, her hands lingering at his shoulders, then sank to her knees to tie the new shoes she had chosen for him.
Her knees parted again, and Martin caught a glimpse of emerald silk this time—matching the blouse. Evelyn looked up at him, eyes sparkling with quiet mischief.
“Different color every week,” she said softly. “Something to look forward to.”
Martin smiled, already anticipating the next visit, the next color, the next slow, deliberate moment when Evelyn would part her knees and let him see. The teasing had become something deeper, something that spanned cities and flights and the quiet hours after closing. And Martin knew, with absolute certainty, that he would keep coming back for as long as she would have him.