It was 8:50 on a Friday evening, and Rita Donovan was furious. She had stepped out of the changing room for only a moment, and now her purse was gone. Half-zipped into a black evening dress, she stormed out of the changing room and up to the counter, where she collared the young salesgirl.

"Someone just stole my purse out of the changing room! I demand to speak to the manager!" Rita continued with her tirade, insisting that she had just stepped out for a moment to see if there might be a smaller size, and, when she returned, her purse was gone. All her money, credit cards, and ID, as well as her cell phone and keys -- gone!

"Someone could be breaking into my house right now!" Rita screamed. Several other women turned to stare at the spectacle, then slowly returned their clothing choices to the nearest rack and moved away from the tension-filled area. It was almost closing time, and Stephanie Collins had already had a stressful week and so was in no mood to deal with the screaming irritation that faced her. Now age twenty, Stephanie had been working at Nelson's for almost three years and had handled more than her share of upset customers. But enough was enough.

After a full minute of abuse, Stephanie spoke. "Ma'am, please calm down. You're upsetting our other customers. I'm sure no one is breaking into your house. How long ago did it happen?"

"What difference does that make? Just call your manager!" Rita fumed.

Rita was twenty-four and used to dealing with staff and tradesmen. She had led what most would describe as a privileged life. Dealing with a common department store clerk was almost beneath her.

"I already called security. My manager is gone for the day," Stephanie quietly answered, well aware that her calm manner would only further infuriate Rita. "You ignorant bitch!" Rita spewed. "I make more money in a week than you do in a month. I don't know why they hire such incompetent little fools like you. All you have to do is ring up sales, re-hang some clothes, and help the customers. But you're too busy gossiping with your friends and just goofing off to notice a thief sneak into a changing room right by your register and steal my purse." Rita was shouting now.

Stephanie drew a long, deep breath, trying to regain her composure before trusting herself to speak.

"Ma'am, I am sorry, but I can direct you to the security office, and you can fill out the proper forms there. And, if you like, you can leave a message for my manager about my lack of service." Stephanie smiled. "Right!" Rita stormed back into the changing room. Moments later, there was a short scream from inside. "You! Miss! Whoever! Come back here...now!" Rita shouted.

Stephanie removed her register keys and reluctantly walked back into the dressing room area. Outside dressing room, three Rita stood with her arms folded. "Now my clothes are gone, too," she stated flatly. "Oh, just now? But there's no one here. The store is practically empty, and the mall is about to close. Who could've taken them?" Stephanie was genuinely perplexed. "I don't know, but I don't have anything to wear now," Rita said.

"Ma'am, the store is closing. I have to lock up my register and do my reports. Did you buy anything that you could wear?" Stephanie asked.

"NO. And if I had, I am sure that would have been stolen too. I guess I'll just have to wear this home and bring it back later."

"Uh, ma'am, that's an eight hundred dollar Donna Karan. I just can't let you walk out with that," Stephanie hesitantly replied.

"Well, go find me something else then; this is your fault," Rita spat.

"But ma'am, we have a very strict policy about that. Look there, at that sign: "This store is not responsible for the loss of unattended personal items," Stephanie quoted.

Rita glared at her. "However, I might be able to find something in our lost and found. It won't be a Donna Karan, but it will...." Stephanie's voice was controlled, with some difficulty. "Fine. So do it. My god, you're lame," Rita said. Stephanie stood silently for a moment.

"There's just one thing. I have to go upstairs to get to lost and found, but I have to lock everything up before I do."

"So what?" Rita said mockingly.

Stephanie spoke slowly, "Because we carry such high profile designer names, they just made it a new policy that we have to lock all of our racks. So I have to secure everything before I leave, or I could get fired."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I have to have that dress," Stephanie said quietly.

"What? Maybe you're not listening. All my clothes are gone."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but it will just be for a moment while I go upstairs. There's no one here. It's past nine. They have already locked the front doors. And I'll be right back."

"Fine," Rita huffed, as she began to slip out of the black evening dress. She cursed herself for not wearing panties (wanting to avoid the dreaded VPL). Then she remembered that she had taken off her bra to try on this stupid damn dress.

"You don't have anything tucked under the counter?" Rita asked, suddenly polite. "Anything?"

"No, I'm sorry. We're very neat here." Stephanie suppressed a smile, knowing full well there probably was something pushed into the back of a drawer. Moreover, Stephanie noticed that without her clothes, Rita was not as imposing as she had first appeared. Naked, Rita's breasts seemed even smaller -- a 32B, perhaps -- while Stephanie was a 36C. She glanced down at her own breasts as if for confirmation.

"What are you doing? Do you mind?" Rita asked, as she slipped the dress down past her hips. "Would a little privacy be too much to ask?" "Ma'am, I have to...." But Rita cut her off again. "Whatever.... Please don't quote me any more policies, thank you.... Here!" Rita roughly tossed the dress in Stephanie's direction.

"I need the shoes, too." Rita, though seething with indignation, saw no alternative and grudgingly complied. Stephanie stepped closer. Previously, the two had been able to stand almost eye to eye. However, now barefoot, Rita found herself staring up at Stephanie's chin. Stephanie smiled quietly as she realized that, at five foot six and in low heels, she now towered over Rita.

Rita, standing in front of Stephanie completely nude, was beginning to feel a little strange. Naked and all alone in a big department store, relying on a younger woman to help dress her, Rita was suddenly overcome with memories of childhood shopping trips with her mother. These trips were often humiliating, since Rita was allowed no privacy and was often paraded around wearing only panties during frequent and lengthy quests to find just the right dress.

"We have to step out of here," Stephanie announced.

"What? Why can't I wait in here?"

"I have to lock it up. Policy."

As they stepped back out into the store, Stephanie turned and locked the dressing room's main door.

"This just gets better and better," said Rita, with a sneer.

Stephanie suddenly wheeled around and stared down her nose at Rita.

"Look, I have had just about enough of you. Here I am helping you and trying my hardest to keep my temper -- and all you can do is gripe and moan. I'm sorry that you were careless and didn't keep an eye on your belongings, but that is not my fault. So keep your snide comments to yourself and wait right here quietly until I get back." Stephanie was livid.

Rita, stunned by this sudden outburst, merely nodded. The words "wait right here quietly" struck several memory chords in Rita, leaving her speechless.

Stephanie turned and walked away briskly. She laughingly called over her shoulder, "I can see now why you were looking for a smaller size."

Rita had always been comfortable with her shape and size, but to be completely nude in an unfamiliar setting and then scolded like a child made her feel small. Rita turned and looked in the mirror. She was small on top, but she had always worn the right clothes to improve her figure. Her eyes wandered farther down her slim frame to her clean-shaven pubic area. She always kept herself shaved, which, she now realized, not only enhanced her nudity but also made her appear even more childlike.

Rita quickly dismissed these thoughts as she gazed at her reflected face. Her makeup was always impeccable and definitely womanly. As she peered more closely, however, she saw that she had smeared her eyeliner. A dark brown smudge marked her cheek. She imagined it must have happened when she took off the damn dress.

Realizing that the spiteful store clerk would take her sweet time in returning, she glanced around the now dimly lit store. Security had already closed everything down, and some areas of the huge department store were positively dark. Peering around through the clothes racks, Rita spied a cosmetics counter and moved over to the display samples. Finding a cleanser and cotton balls, she decided to begin with a clean slate. "I'll be damned if I'm going to wait quietly for that little bitch. I can do what I want. Hell, I'm the customer!" she muttered.

Unfortunately there was no mirror handy, and the only passably good substitute she could find in the gloom was the slightly reflective glass countertop. She commandeered a makeup stool and dragged it over to the counter. Kneeling atop the stool, she leaned over the counter and squinted at her dim reflection -- but then her hair fell down around her face. Frustrated, she straightened up and peevishly pushed her hair out of the way. Again she leaned over, only to have her hair fall right back again. With a sigh, she climbed off the stool and glanced around the counter. On the far end were some hair clips, barrettes. She had not worn those things since she was about ten years old. She smiled as she chose a pair of pink-and-white clips off the rack. She quickly clipped them into her hair on either side of her face and went back to work. After she had removed all of her makeup, she used several bottles of the sample cleansers. She knew these were probably expensive, but didn't care. After cleansing, she searched for a toner, but found none.

Then, tucked behind some perfumes, she found a small orange bottle that obviously contained toner. She liberally applied the liquid and then wiped it off. When she peered into the countertop again, she noticed small markings on her face, mainly across her cheeks and nose.

"Shit!" she said out loud. "They look like freckles!"

She scrambled down off the stool and snatched up the orange bottle. Unable to read the small print in the low light, she could only guess that she had inadvertently used a bronzer instead of a toner. Unfortunately for Rita, certain bronzers did not react well with her lighter skin tone.

She was just beginning to wonder how she was going to repair this blunder, when her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a flashlight beam and a deep voice.

"Put your hands where I can see them," the voice commanded.

"I'm just waiting for a salesgirl to...." Rita's voice trailed off as she remembered her nudity and tried to move behind a nearby rack of sweaters.

"Just stay where you are. We've been looking for you. And don't you run, either. I'm in no mood to chase you."

"Look, I think you're mistaking me...."

"Put your hands back where I can see them...over your head. Now interlock your fingers.... That's right. Put them on your head and stand still," the voice commanded. "If you move, you'll get maced."

Shaken and scared, Rita obeyed orders, and the tall figure of a security guard emerged from the shadows. As he approached, he began to chuckle, though his flashlight beam didn't waver. He pulled out his two-way radio.

"Yeah, Hal? I found her. She was in cosmetics. Don't know what she was up to, but you were right -- she's sure as naked as a jaybird. Beats me how you spotted it on the monitor in this light."

"The trained eye, my boy. Remember, I've got satellite at home and a bunch of X-rated channels; I get in a lot of practice. So okay, Joe, secure the area and bring her back to the office. I'll make some calls. Hey, and check Door 7 on your way back," Hal said.

"Ten-four, over and out." Joe signed off.

Throughout this exchange Rita stood completely still, grateful for the dim lighting. However, her surprise was now giving way to anger, and, as Joe pocketed his radio, she began to vent.

"You're a security guard! You're in so much trouble. You have no idea who you're dealing with! I hope you have saved up some money, goon, because you are going to be unemployed for a long time! I'm a customer here, and you have...."

POP!

Rita's speech was suddenly interrupted by a sharp slap on her naked rump, causing her to unlock her fingers and rub her butt cheek.

"Shut up," he said. "You're trespassing." He chuckled again. "And you're naked in a store that's been closed for almost twenty minutes. I don't want to hear any threats from you. And d'you know what? If you ARE somebody important, I'm sure your country club set would truly love to hear about this incident." He stopped and smiled. "Now, are you going to give me any more trouble? Do I have to cuff you, too?" Joe asked. "Right. Suppose you begin by telling me just what you're doing in here...and in that condition."

Rita, still a bit stunned from the little slap, huffed and quickly explained, grateful that Joe kept his flashlight trained on her face.

After listening patiently to her tale, Joe grasped her upper arm roughly and began dragging her out of the cosmetics department.

"Where are we going?" Rita exclaimed. "Let go of me!"

"Listen, missy, that was a great story, and you can tell everybody all about it, later. Come on." Joe took her more firmly by the arm.

"'Missy'? Who are you calling 'missy'? I'm twenty-four." Rita shouted.

Joe stopped, although he did not let go of his grip. He moved his flashlight beam, very slowly, from the floor up over Rita's body to her face.

"Yeah, in eight to ten years...maybe," he said dryly.

---

Meanwhile, upstairs, Stephanie smiled broadly as she found the exact outfit for her nude customer. Right on top, it must have been turned in just before the store closed....

It was a Harrington School uniform, complete with ID.

---

Rita's embarrassment increased as the giant guard resumed dragging her out of the sales area, up a series of stairs, and into a brightly lit corridor that she presumed led to the security office. At least in the darkness she was not as exposed; however, here in the light, she felt on display. Once or twice, as they turned corner after corner, she caught the security guard glancing at her bottom. When they passed a row of reflective windows, Rita glimpsed herself in full view beside the guard. She seemed tiny next to him. And, as she was -- naked, without makeup, her hair pulled back in barrettes -- she did look rather like a little girl, at least in passing. She couldn't shake that image from her mind, and all sorts of terrible scenarios began to play out inside her head of what he might do to her when they reached the office. Her breathing got heavier, and she began to sweat, despite the air conditioning. In the meantime, his stride being longer than hers, every so often he would yank her arm and scold her for dawdling -- just as if she were a child.

So she was grateful when they reached the office and the guard roughly manhandled her into a chair and tossed her a green and orange striped cotton towel. "Here! Quit whining and don't move from that chair if you know what's good for you," Joe said, as he disappeared into the back office.

As Rita's bottom hit the cold chair, she let out a little yelp. She strained to hear what was being said in the next room and struggled with the towel. She had immediately passed judgment on it as being a "ghastly" color combination. More to the point, however, was that it was fairly skimpy and did not cover much, even on her. Regardless of how she draped it about her, its bottom edge came no more than an inch or two below her navel. Her crotch and bottom being completely exposed, she decided to obey orders and remain seated.

Eventually, Joe emerged from the back office with another security guard, an equally large, rather older man. She assumed this was "Hal." "So what were you up to down there?" Hal asked. Rita began again, complaining bitterly about her stolen clothes -- and about Stephanie, the treacherous store clerk who never returned.

Hal and Joe smiled. "Look, girlie, we already called your school," Hal said.