After the rather stimulating, and somewhat confusing, afternoon, Sam and I went down to dinner and had a very sophisticated meal with brandy afterwards on the terrace. Afterwards we returned to the room and went off to sleep in our respective beds with no more incident. We were both more taken with our roles as Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Loren and happy to dream that Cary Grant was about to emerge from the bathroom rubbing his wet hair with a towel. It was that sort of atmosphere.

The next morning I don’t think that either of us were feeling particularly lively let alone sexy and we went about our own rituals fairly quietly, keeping out of each others way before going down to breakfast. I did notice, without commenting, that Sam lifted the new purple lingerie out of her bag as she disappeared into the bathroom to dress.

After a breakfast of fruit and yogurt and some decadent pastries we hit the shops. With the warm sun and bustling streets, our moods seemed to lift and pretty soon we were laughing and joking at the fashions, both in the shops and on the passers by. We went for the designer shops and sections of the department stores and tried on outfit after outfit. My threat from last night did drift across my mind a couple of times and I rather thought that it was also on Samantha’s mind as she seemed to pay fairly careful regard to changing room doors and wasn’t too keen on anything with only a curtain.

Despite my comments on the train, there weren’t many communal changing rooms but we did end up in one in which she made sure to place herself between me and the curtain, stayed fully clothed until I was undressed before hurriedly ripping off her loose white linen shirt and pulling a dress over her black trousers before I was re-dressed. I smiled to myself but said nothing. Instead I set about thinking through various scenarios trying to hatch a plan.

I seemed to be getting a wee bit interested again. And thinking about it, it was when she pulled off her shirt and I was momentarily looking at her in that lacy purple bra with silky satin panels and lacy straps. It was front fastening and the strap at the back was as delicate as a ribbon. Any bit of wonder she managed to get into her outfit before I did. I had stood gaping at her.

I made a couple of comments in shops about her maybe looking for some more sexy underwear and encouraged her to try on a stupidly tight and short skirt - which she sensibly refused to do. The banter was building a bit, and she began to retaliate with comments about my larger breasts and more curvaceous figure. She suggested that my backside may not fit into some items and that others would result in cleavage that a man could fall into and get lost.

A bit personal, even bordering on the intimate. Oh la la!

In a large and fairly mediocre department store we came across a corner of the ladies wear department selling surprisingly expensive and exclusive designer wear on a more casual, even sporty theme. I spotted a grey jersey knit cotton skirt with an elasticated waist band and hem and bounced over to Samantha with it, pressing her to try it on. She wasn’t keen but I bubbled with enthusiasm, explaining that it would accentuate the long line of her body and legs and curvy, sexy bum. I said it with such sincerity that I think she was really rather flattered. Which is okay because I meant it. It is quite true.

I explained that the beauty was that the way the skirt was made, you could so easily wear it whatever height looked good. It was stretchy and you could even roll the waist band to lift it a bit.

I grabbed a sort of sporty hooded top in navy and said it would be perfect with it. She was totally unconvinced by this bit but I said she should just try it on to explore a look. It wasn’t as if she needed to buy it. She relented and looked around for the changing rooms. I even thought that I saw a sudden suspicion come over her face and was as relieved as she seemed to be when we both spotted that right behind us, in our section of the floor, was a row of cubicles with wooden doors - no room for me to pull back a curtain at an embarrassing moment or anything.

Reassured, Samantha went in and I mooched around with the handful of other friends and boyfriends standing outside the cubicles waiting, shouting encouragement or questions at the row of doors or running over to locate alternative sizes and squeeze them though partially opened doors.

Samantha stepped out and paused. The skirt really looked great. It slid over her contours and ended just on the knee. I was relieved and saw that she had formed the same opinion from the mirror in the cubicle.

I beckoned her over to the rails from which we had lifted the skirt and crouched down in front of her, facing the row of cubicles and the rest of the shop. She stepped forward and stood whilst I pulled and tweaked the line of the skirt and the way the hem sat. I reached up and poked a bit at the waist band too. I suggested she pull it up a few inches, to see how it sat, and then announced that not to be a success and pulled it back down to its former position. I pulled at the waist band to get it to sit properly and rotated the skirt a few inches to straighten it. I asked her to put on the navy blue top which I had thrown over the top of the rail.

Sam reached over, grabbed the top and raised her hands above her head to pull it on. As she tangled herself in the sweater I was tugging at the waist band again and couldn’t believe she wasn’t consciously playing along with me. In one easy movement I slid the waist of the skirt all the way to her feet and pulled and scrunched the stretchy material tightly, pressing down on the floor with it.

Had she just dropped her arms to her sides, the moment would have passed and a few of the bored people at the cubicles would have received a quick flash of purple before her shirt and sweat top fell to cover most of what might excite. Instead, her yelp assured her of everyone’s attention before she bent over to pull and struggle with the scrap of skirt she could get hold of, giving the fitting room congregation (and right the way across to some in the furniture department on the other side of the floor) a full view of her perfectly round ass, covered by a tightly stretched web of purple lace with tiny purple silk flowers stitched all over. Her long legs were quite white up close to her buttocks, growing more tanned lower down. But that ass in those knickers. It truly was exquisite. I found to my own discomfort that I was as enthralled as the blokes standing open mouthed and red faced at the cubicles.

“Gottya,” I said into her face which was an inch from mine.

Sam's face glowed with embarrassment and rage. And from the blood flow of being bent over.

“I’m letting go now." I said.

I released the skirt, four or five seconds after having pulled it down. Sam took both hands to grab the scrunched and tangled skirt, trying to lift it up. She made it stupidly easy for me to reach up and pull the purple silk panties down over that rounded, protruding, magnificent ass all the way down to her knees.

Another yelp from her, almost a scream this time, just to ensure no one was missing this.

I had released the panties immediately, and she dragged up her skirt and knickers while staggering back towards the cubicle. She didn’t really manage that too well either actually because I am sure that a few of the amused blokes, and definitely the young French girl at the changing rooms desk, got rather more of an eye full of pussy than even I had intended. A lot more than would have been necessary had she just taken a micro second to pull up either the skirt or the panties before straightening and turning round.

I waited outside the cubicles, a little worried that perhaps this might have gone too far. Reasoning that it was a handful of people in a foreign city and nothing of any consequence. Knowing that that was unlikely to be how I would feel in Sam's position, having to exit that cubicle and face those people again.

More importantly, why was I feeling so aroused?