When my workplace instituted a new “Casual Friday” policy, I had a good laugh with my best girlfriends.

See, I dress plenty professionally for the office. I own an entire wardrobe of well-cut, expensive, boring-as-hell suits. Monday through Friday, that’s how you’ll find me dressed. But on the weekends and in the evenings, my style is completely different. I think I’d go out of my mind if I had to dress corporate in my off-time. What would I call my after-hours style? Some might brand my clothes as slutty — not slutty like with my ass hanging out of short-shorts, but slutty in a sly, sexy way. I gravitate to well-worn, figure-hugging jeans, silky camisoles in a riot of colors, and the softest, sugar-spun cardigans.

I am walking sex, and my stride is precise.

So “Casual Fridays”? My girlfriends came over to look at my wardrobe. There was no way I could pull this off with what I currently owned. I was going to have to visit the mall for a whole different set of clothes — suits from Monday through Thursday — faux casual clothes for Friday — and then my standard sultry weekend gear. I tried to act put out by the fact, but honestly, shopping is my go-to pastime, and I was on a mission.

At the mall, I headed to one of my favorite stores, posse in tow. I wasn’t sure whether the boutique would have what I wanted, but I decided to give it a whirl. Usually, a salesgirl greets me as soon I walk in. This night, a deep voice from behind me asked, “How can I help you?”

I turned on my heel, coming face-to-face with a dark-haired, dark-eyed man just about my age. He had chiseled cheekbones and a sexy goatee. I was momentarily stunned by his good looks. I wanted to ask him what he was doing in a women’s clothing store. Not that there’s a law or anything, but I’d never seen a male clerk in the place on any of my previous visits. I stammered something like, “Where’s Cici?” She’s the saleswoman who generally helps me. I’m not someone who tends to get shy, but for some reason, I couldn’t make my mouth work right next to this good-looking boy. He explained that he was Cici’s brother, Tyler. While she was traveling, he was in charge, filling in for his big sis. I shook his hand, and said that I was Katrina. Our fingers sparked with electricity at the handshake, and we stood for a moment, simply staring at each other.

My friends, clearly sensing the heat between the two of us, took off for the food court. I regained my sense of decorum and began to pile item after item into my arms to take to the dressing room.

“You seem to know exactly what you’re looking for,” he observed.

“I don’t. That’s the whole thing. That’s why I have all these.” I shook the clothes out and then hung them on the hooks in the dressing room. He stood in the small hallway, watching me from right outside the dressing room. I was acting much more confident than I actually felt. For some reason, this man made my knees weak. To calm my nerves, I explained my situation. “My company doesn’t really want us casual,” I said. “They think they’re doing us a favor somehow, letting us wear what we like. But I know my standard fare wouldn’t pass the test. So basically, their generosity is costing me money.”

“What do you think they want?” he asked. As he said the words, I thought about what I wanted. I wanted to go on my knees in the dressing room and blow him. I wanted to flip around and put my palms on the center of the trio of mirrors and have him tear my jeans down and fuck me from behind. I wanted all sorts of things. But I don’t live in a dirty movie. I had to play by the rules of society, which means that I said, “I think my boss believes that on days I don’t go to work, I dress like a librarian. You know, prim and proper, but not in a suit. It’s insane. I really ought to go to work in what I like to wear in my off-hours.”

“And what’s that?”

I stepped out of the dressing room to motion to the racks of the types of clothes I favor. I’d passed them in order to choose the more sophisticated items. “You know. Those sorts of dresses.”

“Cocktease casual?” he asked, so close that his breath warmed my skin. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Oh, God. Yes. I was. I was telling him I preferred to dress in a way that would make men imagine what fucking me would feel like. If that made me a tease, so be it. But then I leaned closer to him and even though we were the only people in the place, I whispered, “The thing is, in order to be a cocktease, you don’t give in. Right?”

His brown eyes gleamed, and he nodded.

“So what would you call a girl who dresses like that?” I indicated a candy-pink satin number hanging on a rack. “And then lets a guy do her in the backseat of his truck?”

“I don’t have a truck.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I’ve got a Harley.”

My heart was racing. How lovely that a dress code had brought me to this point. I’d have to make a note to thank my boss on Monday.

I walked past Tyler and snagged the dress in question. Then I returned to the small changing room and started to take off my clothes. I didn’t bother shutting the door. He was in the doorway, and he could stay or he could go. But I was pretty sure he was going to stay.

I had on a pair of peach-colored panties and a matching bra, both trimmed in pale yellow lace. I made a big play of standing there in my naughty undies before pulling the dress over my head. Tyler said, “So your boss wouldn’t approve of a sweet dress like this?”

“Tie me,” I said, and I lifted my thick dark hair and offered him the view of my back, waiting for him to tie a bow with the straps at the nape of my neck. I could feel his breath on me, could feel the warmth when his fingers brushed my skin as he made a clumsy loop.

“You like being tied?” he asked, and he moved a step back so he was in the hallway again. I turned to face him.

“I like all sorts of things,” I said.

He looked me up and down and said, “I can see what you mean. That dress might not work in a traditional office setting.” If he only knew. I could imagine the seventeen heart attacks I’d give the powers that be at my office if I strode the halls in something so revealing. But rather than speak, I smiled and brushed past him again, this time trailing my fingertips over his crotch as I moved into the main room. He was hard. I’d been able to discern that with my curious digits. I grabbed another dress that had caught my attention, one made entirely out of fishnet material. Next to the dress was a nude-colored slip intended to be worn beneath the netting. But I passed on the undergarment.

In the dressing room once more, I undid the halter-style pink number and slid into the fishnet. Tyler sucked in his breath. I had on my bra and panties still, but nothing else. The netting clung everywhere.

“Casual enough?” I asked as I cocked a hip.

“What time is it?”

“Can you only be casual after a certain time of day?”

“What time is it?” he asked again, more forcefully.

I checked my watch. “Ten to nine.”

“We close at nine.”

“Good for you.”

He leaned in and put a hand on my waist, gripping me tight. “We close at nine,” he said again. “And then I am going to lock the door and take off your clothes and fuck you so hard against that mirror that you’re going to see stars.”

There was nothing casual at all about the way he said that. He didn’t hesitate or go slow. He leaned in and kissed me, and I felt those dangerous electrical shivers running all the way through me. My nipples got hard, and my breath came fast. Then he pulled back and returned to the main room. I sat on the crimson velvet cushion in the dressing room, and I texted my friends to leave the mall without me. I’d meet up for brunch and explain the following morning, I said. I was sure they’d get the gist.

Ten minutes. I took off the net dress, took off my knickers and bra, and put the fishnet back on. I was shaking with desire, trembling all over. My erect nipples poked through the holes in the netting. My shaved pussy was like a treasure hidden only by the diamond patterns. I heard Tyler locking up, and I checked my watch. He was early. He must have been as excited as I was. Yes, because in seconds, he had returned to the dressing room, and when he saw me standing there he said, “So I guess that answers the question.”

“What was the question?”

“Are you a cocktease?”

I laughed. “And what’s the answer?” As I said the words, I went to my knees on the plush, sand-colored carpet and pressed my face to the seam of his jeans. He sighed and ran his fingers through my long hair. I loved that we were in the dressing room, with the trio of mirrors reflecting our every move. He undid his belt as I worked the buttons on his fly, and then his jeans were open and my mouth was open and I was sucking him. Sweet heaven, did he ever taste good. I know my way around a cock, and I didn’t hesitate to show Tyler some of my best tricks.

He held on to the sides of the doorway while I worked his cock, and he talked to me the whole time. I was thrilled. You never know what people are going to be like in bed — or, in this case, in dressing rooms. Tyler was mouthy. He told me that my lips were like silk on his dick, and that my mouth was the warmest, wettest thing he could imagine.

That’s when I pulled off him and said, “Except my pussy, right?”

He gazed down at me. “Right.”

“Why don’t you check to see?” I suggested.

He moved us so that we were completely in the room rather than him in the hall, and he bent me over the cushioned bench. I was somewhat surprised to hear a tearing sound as he shredded the fishnet in the back.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take my employee discount.” Then he was in me, through the torn netting, his cock probing my pussy from behind. I stared at my face in the mirror. My black hair was messy, my eyes wide with pleasure. Tyler’s face showed delight, too, as he rocked his hard cock in and out of my slippery hole.

“What would happen if you wore something like that to your office?” he asked as he pounded me.

“Nothing like this,” I assured him, thinking of the stuffed shirts I spend my weekdays with.

“Ah, that’s too bad.” As he fucked me, he stroked my clit through the netting that still covered the front part of my body. I groaned and bucked against him. “I can imagine you down on some loading dock, giving the delivery boys a treat. Or maybe spreading yourself out on a conference table and giving new meaning to the words ‘power-point presentation.’ I like the thought of you shocking people.”

That gave me an idea. I pulled forward, disconnecting the two of us, and then I turned to gaze at him. He had a look of total confusion on his handsome face. I appreciated that look. I said, “I want to watch you touch yourself.”

He seemed completely surprised by the request. I sat back down on the velvet bench in my tattered dress, and I said, “Go on — stroke your cock while I watch.”

He didn’t take his eyes off mine. He gripped his joint in his fist and began to pump his palm along that slippery flesh.

"Good boy,” I said, smiling as I spread my legs and started to touch myself. Our reflections moved in tandem — or more than tandem. We were there in infinity, all of us, reflected and re-reflected into the abyss. Tyler said, “What do you have in mind next?” and I could tell he was getting closer.

“I want you to come on that mirror,” I said, pointing to the one in the center. “I want to watch you shoot on the glass.”

He moaned at my words, and his hand started moving faster. “I’ve never met a girl like you before,” he said.

“No,” I agreed. “You definitely haven’t. Pretty on the outside and fucking filthy on the inside.”

His hand was a blur. I brought him to the finish with what I said next: “I’m going to lick your cream off the mirror,” I promised him, “and then you’re going to fuck me doggy-style on the floor.”

“God, yes,” he groaned, and he shot in a stream against the polished silver. I moved to lick up the drips immediately, so turned on I could hardly think. I was gratified when I felt his big, manly hands on my hips, pulling me onto my hands and knees. He was behind me, and then his mouth was on my pussy, licking and sucking my clit until I came. He was right. I did see stars. Glittering, glimmering gold stars in my vision as the vibrations worked through me. It was magic, and I gave in fully, accepting the pleasure to the center of my being. I didn’t think of how strange this was — hooking up with someone I’d never met before, fucking in a dressing room, destroying merchandise, creating a mess. He seemed to grow hard again from my taste, because even as I was coming down from that first monster orgasm, his erect cock was piercing me once more from behind.

“I want to take you for a ride,” he said.

“You are,” I assured him, panting.

“On my bike,” he continued. “I want to drive you out to the reservoir and fuck you in the tall grasses.”

“Yes, yes,” I said.

“You’ll wear a business suit for me,” he said. “I’ll rip it off you.”

The boy had a thing for tearing clothes. I liked that.

“Mess up your refined outfit, get you all good and dirty.”

The words were harder to come by now. I was on the cusp of another earth-shaking orgasm. I could feel the thrill of it beating inside me. I nodded at Tyler, and my eyes locked on his in the mirror as he spit on his palm and pulled out of me.

“What are you doing?” I managed to ask.

“I’m prepping you.”

Then he was lubing up my asshole with his spit and I closed my eyes, knowing in a flash what was going to happen. My pussy was so wet — wetter than I could remember. I couldn’t say this was my biggest fantasy, because I’d never even dared to imagine something so incredible might happen. A connection this raw, this powerful, with a total stranger. But I felt transported as he pressed the head of his cock against my backdoor and then waited.

“Do you want this?”

I opened my eyes and stared at him in the mirror. “Yes,” I babbled. “Yes, Tyler. Fuck my ass.”

He smiled at me. “Good girl. I want this, too.”

Then he pushed, gently, and I felt my body welcoming him, parting for him. He didn’t go fast. He took his time, inching forward at a pace that was slow and steady. In response, my heart was beating raggedly. My cheeks were hot and as pink as the halter dress I’d modeled for him. My eyes seemed to shine in the dressing-room light. There were millions of us fucking in that small room. The mirrors showed us doing this dirty act. I turned my head, and there I was. I looked straight forward, and there we were again.

“I’m ready,” I said, when he’d gotten in me good. “Fuck me hard. Like you were.”

He didn’t listen. He kept going slow, pushing in and pulling out. I closed my eyes and lowered my head, and he gripped my hair and made me face forward once more. “Watch us,” he demanded, so I did. I watched as he started to move at a quicker pace. I watched as he slid one hand along my hip and then under my body to tug and pull at my clit while he fucked me. I watched myself get ready to climax. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my reflection. The power of the orgasm lit me up. My eyes looked bigger. My lips parted. I started to tilt my head back, but Tyler hissed, “Watch!” And I did. For Tyler, I watched the whole map of my bliss unfurl. I watched myself reach new peaks. I watched myself come.

I can’t remember anything sexier than that image. Except maybe the way my lover looked when he reached his own limits mere moments later, slamming me to him forcefully and filling my ass with his seed, crying out my name over and over.

When the final spasms of pleasure had left us, we parted. Tyler took me to the tiny bathroom and let me clean myself up. While he did the same, I pieced together my original outfit, slightly rumpled for being tossed on the floor and fucked on top of. Then I looked at the clothes I hadn’t even bothered to try on. I had no desire at the moment to gather up a Casual Friday look. I’d have to come back another time. I was staring at the shredded netting, when Tyler came up behind me.

I actually was wistful that the dress hadn’t made it out of the dressing room in one piece. Tyler must have caught the look on my face, because he took me into the main part of the store, grabbed an identical dress from the rack, and handed it to me.

“A parting gift?” I asked.

He grabbed a pen from the counter and turned his wrist faceup. “Write your address down,” he said. “I’ll be over later to tear that one off you, too.”

That’s the story of how I learned to love Casual Fridays. And Casual Saturdays. And Sundays. And Tuesdays — and Wednesdays —