"You'll wear this, and you'll love it," she commands, zipping him into the tight, pink number. Her heels click on the hardwood, echoing his racing pulse. Out they go, her hand possessively on his lower back, guiding him through the jeering crowd. He feels their stares, their whispers, his face burning. She makes him twirl, preen, her laughter echoing as he's reduced to her pretty plaything, his arousal betraying his shame.