Page 2 of The Frock Up
No movement.
Okay, this is weird.
I pulled at the material, trying to work the zippered prison down my body, wincing when I heard the seams groan in protest as I pulled it up and over my butt. With a shimmy, I attempted to get it past my hips to no avail.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!
"How does it look?" The saleswoman asked, giving my door a light knock.
"Ah, wonderful. But I seem to have... that is...." I swallowed, my palms beginning to sweat. "I think the zipper is stuck."
"Oh, that happens sometimes. Can I come in and help?"
I yanked the skirt back down, hiding my underwear.
"Okay."
I opened the door and she slipped through, the guy on the other side still glued to his phone.
Must be an engrossing game.
The sales assistant gave the zipper a tug, letting out a surprised huff when it didn't budge.
"Hmm, just a moment." She stuck her head out the door, calling, "Gwen, can you come in here please?"
My cheeks flushed as Gwen joined us in the tiny stall.
"Oh, this happens all the time," she assured me, taking a firm grip on the zipper. "Ready? One, two-" she yanked down, the fabric protesting as the zipper remained fixed in place.
"Oh."
Oh? Oh!? What does 'Oh' mean?
"Is... is everything okay back there?" I asked, anxious butterflies now taking flight in my belly.
"Ah, it seems the zipper has broken. Not your fault, looks like a fault with the dress. Let's take this off another way." With a rough yank, she attempted to pull the dress up, managing to send me tripping into the mirror with a yelp.
"Ah, I see the problem," she said with a shake of her head. "Your derriere is disproportionate to your hips. Perfect for this dress, not so great for being stuck in it."
A quick glance in the mirror revealed the material was now bunched at my hips, my hamburger print underwear on full show.
This is my punishment for listening to Millionaire Millie—abject mortification.
"Look, how about I just buy this one—" I began, horrified at the idea of anyone seeing more of my body.
"Don't fret, we'll get you out."
Gwen reached for the top of the dress, giving it a sharp pull, the material falling to pool around my waist. Now both my top and bottom half were on show—complete with hamburger underwear and Pokémon bra.
So, this is hell. I always wondered what it would be like. Turns out it's having your wildest dream of living in your favorite dress fulfilled in the worst possible way.
With a shake of her head, Gwen tapped a finger against her lips.
"I think we'll need to cut it."
"I'm sorry, did you say—" I leaped back as she pulled a Stanley knife from her pocket. "What are you doing!?"
She gestured at the knife. "Cutting you out."
