Begrudgingly I drove to the gym and headed to the changing room to get out of my suit. I opened the door of the male locker room, the familiar smell of multiple deodorants lingering in the air and the sound of running water from the showers that were located next to the lockers.I walked over to the bench, took off my suit jacket and shirt, switching it for my synthetic running shirt, before kicking off my shoes and peeling off my work socks. Off came the suit trousers, and I stood there in my underwear.I was in my own little world, neatly folding my suit trousers and jacket, stuffing my shirt into the gym bag and unlacing my trainers when my bubble was burst “Nice pants, don’t see that every day” came the voice from the showers. It startled me, the dawning reality that I’d been stood in my jockstrap for all to see, as I turned around managing to muster a coy “Erm… sorry, thanks”. I quickly pulled on my running shorts made my excuses and left the locker room – slightly redder than when. After a few minutes the owner approached me, asking if there was anything specific I wanted, or did I want any help. She was gorgeous, with an even tan and a shock of wavy auburn hair which came to her shoulders. She was wearing a dark grey pencil skirt and a cream lace blouse open to her cleavage, with the collar turned up. I could see her cream balconette bra and the curve of her full breasts through the lace. Below the hem of the skirt her shapely legs were clad in seamed full fashion nylons and she wore a pair of black stilettos. I told her that I was not sure exactly what I wanted just yet, but that I would appreciate her advice. I also mentioned that I would like to take advantage of her fitting service. She looked at my bust, her eyes lingering on my cleavage and said that she could see that I might need some assistance there. Then she looked at her watch and said ‘Oh, I really need to get to the bank before it closes and I am alone here today. Would you mind coming back.’ I.
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