“Yeah, well…your brother’s got a…” She tosses the dress over her shoulder, then with two hands molds a ridiculously enormous cock in her pelvic region and thrusts a few times to really drive it home. “Dickpedo.”

Shaking her head, Lizzie snatches the gown in question from her and holds it up to my body. “Try it on,” she says, nudging her chin toward the dressing room.

She can’t get away from Darci’s immature ass fast enough.

“What do we think?” I ask, stepping out to model for the girls.

“Dayum,” Margo growls. “Can I touch ’em?” She makes grabby hands at my ample cleavage.

“No,” I laugh, turning this way and that, admiring the way my new figure fills out this dress in a way I never could have before. What are the odds that the first thing I’d try on would be the one? “Should I try a few more?” I ask, dying inside at the thought of considering anything but this one.

“No,” my three friends all answer in unison, finally agreeing on something.

“This dress was made for you,” Lizzie gushes. “Lyle is going to flip.”

The mention of my husband brings a smile to my face. “All right,” I say. “So, we’re done?”

“Not so fast…” Darci whips something white and skimpy from behind her back. “Can’t forget the wedding undergarments.”

She holds it out for our approval. The top is a sheer balconette bra with rose details embroidered in the lace. The thong has similar detail to the bra and the garter belt has a dainty miniskirt attached that sits just below the navel, extending about three inches and ending right above the pubic bone.

“That’s incredible,” I say, taking it from her hands and examining it more closely.

“I have my moments,” Darci beams, proud of her find.

“We also found these,” Margo says, tossing me a string of pearls.

“I have real ones at home…don’t need costume ones. And what kind of closure is this?” The clasps are huge. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “It’s nipple clamps.” She takes it from my hand and opens the pinchers at either end a few times to demonstrate. “See?”

“Oh.” I clear my throat and my nips start to tingle. “I don’t know about this,” I hedge, sucking air through my teeth. “They are really sensitive lately.”

“Listen, Linda,” Margo sasses. “That boy pierced his damn ding-a-ling. You can give him something fun to play with, too.”

“Annnnd, we’re done here,” Lizzie snaps. “Misha!” she calls, waving at our sales associate and motioning for her to meet her at the register. Lizzie passes her a card before I can even get mine out of my wallet. “It’s on your husband.”

“I have my own money,” I argue, holding out a finger for Misha to wait before swiping.