Maid Outfit in the Fitting Room
The fitting room at Tak-5 was, honestly, far too spacious to qualify as a department store changing area. In my memory, fitting rooms were cramped spaces just a bit larger than a phone booth, barely enough room to hang a few clothes. But the one I'd entered with Yukiko was the size of a decent goshiwon single room. A mirror, clothes hangers, and a chair? Fine. But no matter how I racked my brain, I couldn't figure out why there'd be a bed in a fitting room.
I knew society bent over backward to promote sex on a systemic level, but since I rarely ventured outside, these little details were all new to me.
"Then, I shall disrobe."
I turned my head away and waited as she stripped off her clothes one by one, folded them neatly, set them on the bed, and slipped into the maid outfit she'd brought. My eyes stayed fixed on the wall, but the sounds alone painted a vivid picture of her every move. The room was large, but not so vast that the fragrance wafting from Yukiko's body couldn't permeate it.
"Do you not wish to see my body?"
Her face was expressionless, her voice icy. She'd seemed special when I first picked her out at the slave market—that was a plus. But in a moment like this, those words delivered in such a charm-free, frigid tone sowed confusion. Was she lamenting her enslaved fate, urging me not to toy with her feelings and just take her? Or had her own body heated up, drawing me in? If she'd tempted me with even a touch more warmth and sweetness, I wouldn't have to fight my lust like this—no, I couldn't have fought it.
If only she had. But no—if she had, I never would have brought Yukiko home in the first place. The answer was set from the start. She was by my side because of the slave contract. Because she'd sold her body for the pittance it brought her—one of her few options. A cold, beautiful blankness was preferable to forced smiles. Talk of providing for her life or slave contracts all boiled down to legalized prostitution anyway. Just as a baker doesn't need to feign emotions when selling bread, maybe it was drier, more proper for me to take her body without any feelings attached.
I hated that idea.
"Even without looking, I'm sure you're beautiful."
A stupid response. Her changing seemed finished; no more sounds came from behind me.
"Then, would you care to admire this poorly fitted garment on my unworthy form?"
"I doubt that outfit could be prettier than you, Yukiko."
I turned around, half-expecting her to still be half-dressed. The short black skirt with its white frills was so tiny it barely covered her hips, let alone her legs. From the white maid cap on her head downward, her pristine white skin was exposed from her face down to just above her nipples—no fabric in sight.
"Th-that's... how it's supposed to look...?"
What passed for a skirt was more like a waist ornament; her legs were sheathed instead in sheer black stockings that contrasted beautifully with the exposed white skin above. "It's designed in two pieces, with an outer layer worn over," she explained. Sure enough, another part of the maid outfit remained on the bed. Just as I thought she'd put it on next, Yukiko stepped toward me.
Before I could process it, my groin surged to attention.
"If I may be so bold, perhaps you should adjust your attire for comfort?"
She knelt before my chair, gazing up. From above, that tiny top failed even at covering her nipples. Right in front of her stunning face loomed my cock, straining against my pants like it might rip through. But what made restraint impossible was her face itself, staring up at me. No matter what I did to her, she'd have no choice but to submit. If I tugged my pants down just a bit and shoved it in her mouth, she'd suck me off without resistance, her cold, blank expression unchanged.
The modern Physical Enhancement Procedure didn't just boost physical prowess—it evolved to make breeding more pleasurable and frequent. Even just swallowing the precum already leaking from my cock would melt that frozen expression into ecstasy, leaving Yukiko and me both blissed out from that alone.
"Thanks."
Instead, I slid off the chair to meet her eyes. My lower half dropped low enough to be somewhat concealed by our positions, and our gazes locked—hers inches from where she'd been ready to serve. It calmed me a fraction. Unfazed, she stared blankly into my eyes.
"That's enough. It looks great. Why not try the rest?"
A brief silence passed, then she donned the remaining pieces. When she spun a full circle in the complete outfit, she outshone any fantasy-world maid server wandering the store outside.
"Like the outfit?"
I stepped aside so she could see herself in the mirror, positioning myself behind her. For some reason, her eyes in the reflection seemed fixed not on herself, but on me standing there.
"Does Master not approve?"
"You're too beautiful."
Looking at my own reflection, my smile came off a bit awkward. We left the fitting room first; the attendants shot us puzzled looks, like already? Yukiko in her maid outfit looked like she'd stepped out of a fantasy realm, clashing with the modern department store. We didn't exchange another word. She silently picked out a few items, and I just said "Looks good" and bought them—no real conversation.
/////
I wondered if Yukiko just hated shopping itself, but she eagerly selected things that weren't hers—meticulously choosing cooking ingredients, scrutinizing the fine print on cleaning supplies. It was surprisingly diligent.
Shopping done, all purchases shipped via delivery, our hands empty. At the bus stop, one seat was free. I offered it to Yukiko; she offered it to me. In the end, neither sat.
Waiting for the bus, a lively, bright chorus approached. Three high school girls, chattering away, spotted me and lowered their voices slightly.
"Hey, are we being too loud? Think he'll scold us for making noise in public?"
"What're you saying, Hyun-ah? Think that bro will punish us by whipping our pussies in public for being noisy?"
"Kyahahaha! You're insane!"
They'd quieted, but their chatter still carried. It wasn't just me hearing it—Yukiko's face subtly stiffened. She was so consistently expressionless, with no tells for her moods, that reading her might all be my imagination anyway.
"Speaking of, why not hit on him? If we three gang up with our youth, he might bite."
The girl with bright dyed blonde hair started it, and the trio began slyly eyeing me.
"You serious? See that scary-looking sis behind him? What guy dragging around a woman like that would go for kids like us?"
"Think the opposite. Does a real man take the bus? He looks fine—maybe he's so desperate for women he can't get any. That woman's probably a slave, right? Kinda exotic features, super polite vibe. Look—she won't even make eye contact!"
"Even hotties like that end up as slaves these days?"
"Sis I know said the slave market's turning red ocean—guys who can afford slaves already have dozens or hundreds. Plus, tons went bust from the Japan tourism biz crash..."
The long-haired girl in the shortened skirt chimed in. I started worrying where this conversation was headed.
"Yeah, now even Korean and Russian women are trickling into the slave market. Real tough to snag a master these days..."
"Off-topic, but that bro screams virgin. Seen tons like him at school."
"So you got dating experience, Mi-seon?"
"That's not the point! Anyway, we got nothing to offer him, he got nothing for us—but if we just fuck, win-win, right?"
Pretty sound reasoning. Women's intuition nailing my virginity, pegging my bus-riding as poverty making women hard to get—it held water. Men being poor in this era was rare, but exceptions abounded: gambling debts, bad sureties, failed businesses.
"Guys' libidos are no joke. Looks like he got the Physical Enhancement Procedure—they say it cranks sex drive so high you can go a hundred in a row nonstop. Bet he's dying to grope our asses right now."
Truth was, I was just a loser too lazy to drive who preferred familiar buses. Their chat wrapped up, and the girls sidled over cautiously.
"Hey, bro? Got time today? Wanna hang with us for real~?"
The blonde led the hunt, but the others jeered as she finished.
"Your line sucks—way too cheesy."
"Said we'd overwhelm with youth..."
Lately, I'd had a lot on my mind, but their bright laughter lifted my spirits.
"Sorry, can't. You're students—focus on studying."
I had no intention of casual hookups with strangers.
"Aww, don't be like that! Hug first!"
Before I could react, the blonde lunged and hugged me tight. Through her uniform, I felt soft breasts squish against me. I could've blocked if I'd braced, but the unpredictability left me frozen.
"What are you doing to Master?"
A thud—and the girl hit the ground like a lie. Too sudden to catch; Yukiko had peeled her off me without a scratch and shoved her away. Breathing just a touch harder, she stood guard over the fallen girl with a serene expression.
"Whoa, you okay? Not hurt?"
I rushed over, checking the blonde. She seemed fine, smirking as she soaked up my attention.
"Ow ow... Didja see my panties when I fell?"
"Anywhere hurt?"
She rubbed her chest teasingly, playing hurt.
"My heart hurts from the fall... If bro plays with me somewhere quiet, it'll heal right up!"
"Didn't hit your head? Even if you're fine now, if you get dizzy or sore, call me."
"Ignoring me completely! At least give your number? Gotta call if it hurts later!"
Grinning, I entered my number in her phone. She called it to confirm the ring, then sprang up triumphantly.
"Got his number! Got his number! I hunted a guy and scored digits!"
She waved her phone, jotted it in a notebook, synced to the cloud—savoring victory.
"I'll text for sure! Reply to everything—no ghosting!"
Their bus came first; they left laughing boisterously to the end. As soon as they boarded and pulled away, Yukiko spoke cautiously.