The Chosen Dress

Allowing my father-in-law to pay and choose my wedding dress… and the consequences.

As my first wedding anniversary approaches, I still haven’t gotten over how my wedding dress was decided in the bridal boutique. I don’t think I ever will.

I’m Katie, a 29yr old, happily married school teacher. But that day with my father-in-law has left me with a confusing mix of shame and simmering arousal that I can’t seem to deal with.

Marvin, my father-in-law, is 58. A tall, astute businessman who carries himself with authority. He’s always been generous and warm towards me, so I allowed him to kindly pay for my dress. My own father couldn’t afford it on top of everything else, and declining Marvin’s offer felt impossibly rude.

He arranged a private appointment at an exclusive boutique that belonged to an old friend of his. I suggested my mother and sister join us, but he instantly and smoothly dismissed it.

“Let me handle this, Katie. It’ll be our little secret. Nobody needs to know I paid for your gown,” he said, with a friendly smile that reassured me there were no strings attached to his offer.

Against my better judgement, I went along out of obligation, telling myself it was the polite and practical thing to do, to not offend my future father-in-law.

Elena, the seamstress in her early fifties, greeted Marvin like an old lover rather than an old friend. I could tell she was an attractive woman in her younger days. Dark hair pinned elegantly, red lipstick, classy cleavage, and a confident, sultry manner. The chemistry between them was obvious.

“Marvin,” she cooed, kissing his cheek as she touched his arm familiarly.

“Elena, thank you for doing this,” he greeted her with an affectionate hug.

“And you must be the beautiful bride,” she said to me with me a knowing once-over, as if she’d orchestrated the whole situation herself. “Such a pretty face and a ravishing figure, my dear.”

“Thank you,” I replied, blushing awkwardly.

I’m 5’7” with a curvy figure, blue eyes, softly rounded hips, and a full, heavy, 36E bust. I know my figure arouses a lot of men, even Marvin at times. I’d caught him admiring me at family barbecues and social gatherings, but he was never sleazy or creepy about it.

In the large fitting room with its heavy velvet curtain and wall of mirrors, Elena brought out the dress that Marvin had pre-selected. A romantic, figure-hugging white wedding gown, featuring delicate spaghetti straps and a plunging sweetheart neckline that was designed to showcase the bust.

I changed behind the curtain, keeping my white bra and knickers on. The dress was incredibly tight. When I tried to zip it up, the structured bodice wouldn’t sit right over my bra, so Elena stepped behind the curtain to help me.

“For a neckline like this you need to remove your bra. Otherwise we can’t see the true fit,” she said. I protested quietly, feeling exposed enough already, but she insisted it was standard for the style. “Trust me, it’s necessary, so come on, don’t be shy.”

Embarrassed, I reluctantly unhooked my bra and slipped it off cautiously, holding my large, natural breasts in the process. Then Elena helped guide the dress over them. I could have died right there in the damn fitting room.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Katie. You’re going to love this dress once it’s on,” she said quietly, acting nonchalant.

But the lace barely contained me. The thin fabric pressed my breasts together and upward, displaying a significant amount of cleavage. While looking shocked at my reflection, I realised the curtain wasn’t fully closed. There was a large gap on the one side.

As Elena adjusted the zip and tugged the bodice into place, the curtain shifted further. I stared at the mirror and froze. Marvin was sitting in the armchair directly in line with the gap, his eyes locked on me. He had a clear, unobstructed view of my bare breasts as the lace was arranged around them.

His gaze was fixed, drinking in their size, shape, and then the way they strained against the delicate fabric. He didn’t look away once, and neither did I. It was a traumatic experience, yet my nipples hardened at him staring at me.

“There we go. Perfect,” Elena beamed.

“Come out and let me see my beautiful daughter-in-law,” Marvin said in his deep voice, rising from the armchair.

I hesitated, cheeks burning with embarrassment, arms instinctively moving to cover myself as I tried to protest again. The dress was too revealing for me. It wasn’t my style.

“Nonsense, you look beautiful,” Marvin insisted firmly, cutting me off with his authoritative tone. “Don’t be shy. I’m family. And I’m paying for it,” he said.

Elena smiled knowingly, stepping back slightly so the view remained open. I felt trapped by obligation again. I mean, he was spending a couple of grand… and to refuse him seemed childish and ungrateful. Trembling, I lowered my arms and turned slowly.

“The best bride I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he complimented, but I felt those eyes devouring me and my nipples tingle.

As he stood grinning at me, his gaze skirting up down, lingering on my bulging breasts, how the lace framed them provocatively. Elena fussed with the fit, pulling the neckline lower and tighter as if trying to expose more.

As she adjusted the straps, one side of the bodice slipped briefly, fully baring my left breast for several long seconds before she corrected it. Marvin leaned forward slightly, staring intently at my exposed, taut, and sensitive nipple.

I felt Elena had done it on purpose. I was mortified standing there while my fiancées father unashamedly examined me. Yet, Marvin’s voyeuristic gaze caused my stomach to dance and a shameful slickness to form between my thighs. My body betrayed me with a deep, shameless arousal.

My breathing grew shallow too as I told myself it was just for the dress, that I owed him that much. But the way he looked at me, both hungry and appreciative, made my pulse race in strangely dangerous, unfamiliar ways.

Elena stepped out briefly for pins, leaving us alone. The tension was terrifying, but I was undeniably turned on by the forbidden exhibitionism. Marvin declared the dress was “the one” before instructing Elena to make further alterations to accentuate my figure. He then took me to lunch, where he acted completely normal.

On the wedding day, I walked down the aisle in the dress, acutely aware of everyone’s reactions, especially my fiancé’s. I knew it was impossible not to draw eyes from all the male guests. I noticed the double-takes, the widened, lingering gazes, and the troubled look on my mother’s face.

Throughout the day, I noticed the difference between the sweet compliments from my female friends and family, versus the slightly more obvious reactions from the men. Admittedly, it gave me an unexpected rush of confidence. I felt loved and desired, and my big smile was genuine.

My confidence grew in the dress. Of course, all the champagne I drank helped. I felt special, like I was walking on air, taking it all in while trying to stay composed. During the only dance I shared with Marvin that day, he pulled me close, his hand on my lower back, leaning in and whispering softly.

“You were breathtaking in that fitting room, especially when the lace slipped and I saw your beautiful breasts. I promise to never mention it ever again, but tell me honestly, Katie, did it excite you as much as it excited me?”

“Yes,” I confessed. “I wish it hadn’t happened. But I do like the dress you choose for me. Thank you, Marvin.”

“You’re very welcome, Katie. I’d love to say that you’re the daughter I never had, but that would be disingenuous of me, because you’re in fact the woman I can never have. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

With that bombshell, Marvin broke from the dance, leaving me speechless. He’s never acted inappropriately since, or let his gaze linger for too long when we’re together, but I do enjoy a guilty solo session from time to time, thinking about that day in the bridal boutique… and what my father-in-law would to do me if he got the chance…