Date: Fri, 16 May 2014 20:13:53 -0500
From: Mackey Messer <mackeydmesser@gmail.com>
Subject: [TG] "Bullseye" Part I.
Author's Note:
Hello!
My first submission to Nifty— with all of the wet, cum-slick enjoyment
I've gotten out of this site, I hope this is a small token of
repayment. I'd love to hear commentary, critique, love/hate mail, or really
whatever. Feel free to email me!
Bullseye
Finding work as a man is hard enough.
And finding work as a woman is harder.
And well, finding work as something in between is damn near
impossible. It sure as Hell makes for awkward interview(s) when they see
something in a skirt, but the rest of you don't quite match up, if they're
looking real hard. But, get yourself gussied and glammed up just right, and
it is amazing what you can pull off, especially with a nice set of hose.
However, its also an undisputed fact that working during the
Christmas rush in retail is definitely un-glamorous. In a lot of ways, it
definitely is an honest job, and you definitely do get a sense of
satisfaction at a job well done at the end of the day, provided it all
wasn't too horrid.
But that all fades when you walk in the next morning, and it has all
gone to Hell and back, and must be done again. And again.
It was December and I was broke. Broke enough to sunder my dignity
and apply for retail Hell, tights and all. Worst of all was that I was
hungry and hunger pangs at work have an inexcusable tendency to make the
day that much longer. I am unashamed to say that one of the major reasons I
applied to where I did was for the free peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
they provided for their workers during the holidays. They're not really all
that nutritious, but what PB&J and a glass of water lacks in dignity, it
makes up for in the ability to get you through the day.
On that night I was feeling dizzy, light on my feet and had just a
general feeling of being...off. My red shirt chafed at my arms and padded
bra, the lights seemed extra bright, and the khaki skirt's breezy
undercarriage was really doing nothing helping me focus. What was worse was
that I had been put into soft lines for that particular shift, a place in
the store that I liked significantly better than the rest. Though, I have
to say that being surrounded by moderately-priced and semi-fashionable
women's clothing was really not the best place for me to do my job- I was
way too distracted by all the gorgeous outfits I put together mentally and
in formulating wild and complicated fantasies to put the measly discount
that I had to good use when I received my first check the following night.
After I paid rent to my aunt and uncle, and some food, and gas to
get to work, my pills, car insurance and that there marked the extent of my
check. I tried not to note how clothing didn't quite make it on that list.
I did get along well with my fellow holiday wage slaves and my
manager all well enough. Most of us had developed a special brand of
loathing for "The Guest" and a sense of shared camaraderie in our hatred of
said Guest. The shell-shocked look and mental-patient-shuffle at the end of
a shift was enough to create that bond.
Kayla had walked up to me, and was far, far too energetic for being
just a couple hours away from closing the store up. I felt energized just
being around her and started to perk up at the mere sight of her.
"Hey, that's a cute outfit! I didn't know we even sold this." I
smiled at her and couldn't help but feel the heat of her on my arm as she
leaned in really close on the clothes rack as I nodded in agreement.
Kayla was stacked- fantastic breasts, and an ass to match, all of
which was complimented in dusky skin from her Afro-Latina
parents. Voluptuous without being fat, she could have easily crushed me
like a twig between her thighs if she so chose. The girl was a product of
some good living and even better genes. She had these beautiful porn star
lips- lips that you just couldn't help but want to bust a nut on and
rightfully served as one of her most striking features. She reminded me of
Marylin Monroe, in a way.
But it was the heat of her that I liked the most. She just radiated
warmth. Maybe it was the back-alley estrogen pills, but I was cold all of
the damn time. When I was a boy, being cold wasn't a problem. Pumped full
of birth control however, and you realize that its one of those things that
your pasty-faced-suburban-white-kid-dealer leaves out, I guess.
"I know, right?" I affirmed and held it up, while fidgeting with
it. It was better to chat and look busy than just stand and chat. Big
Brother was watching and you never knew when or where.
"Wait, hold on one second. Tell me what you think of this!" Kayla
walked off, disappearing around the corner in the fitting rooms.
I stood there waiting, letting the fabric slide between my fingers
and looking around the store, generally just people-watching. I heard a
rustle behind me.
"Excuse me, sir?"
As I turned, the woman's face flickered slightly in shock, but she
hardly had the decency to blush in embarrassment.
"Yes, excuse me ma'am, but could you check to see if you have
another one of these in the back?"
She spoke fast to cover her mistake, but I instantly disliked this
woman. Really, how do you mistake a skirt? I was more than passable- Kayla
had no idea and had affirmed me as being "very cute".
She had the look of a suburban mom. "Mom jeans", an expensive blouse
and purse hitched over one shoulder with a small American flag pinned near
her lapel—she came off as the type that abhors sexual deviance, but once
"experimented" when she was off at college. Dollars to donuts, she would
proudly consider herself one of Palin's "Hockey Moms"- complete with an
asinine bumper sticker to match. All of this complete with a self-entitled
sneer and what I could only assume was a hardly-ever-there sugar daddy
husband to match.
I plastered on a fake smile and said "Excuse me for a moment? Let me
go get the scanner" and scooted off. I was coming down from a small
daydream that her husband was one of the lonely guys I would cam for
through my neighbor's hijacked wireless internet. Probably one of the
creeps who enjoyed my little cam sessions so much, they'd ask for some of
my cum-splattered panties through the mail.
I grabbed the price gun, keyed in my number, and scanned the barcode
as I walked past her. Nothing on the floor. Nothing in the back. Nothing in
the store. Hell, nothing in the store seven miles down the road.
"Could you call someone back there? You know, maybe its back there
and its just not showing up." . She pointed to the back of the store, like
I was a trained monkey. The insistence on this one piece of clothing was
starting to chafe, but it seemed like a reasonable enough request if you
were just plain brain-dead.
"Sure" I responded, falsely cheery and sashayed down the aisle to
the back, pulling out my walkie as she walked a few steps behind me.
I called to the backroom on the walkie talkie, rattling off the
product number and adding another four digits which was our store's
universal number for "Hey, I'm only giving this number for an idiot
customer- just act like it's the right one and say "Nope, sorry, no
locations back here for it". True to form, Norman (our backroom guy that
night) said "Sorry, no dice for the guest. No loc's"
"I'm sorry ma'am, but it seems we don't have it" I said, looking
over and seeing Kayla making a very convincing imitation of a noose and
hanging.
"Could you check yourself? Maybe he just wasn't seeing it."
I would have given an hour's worth of pay to say
"No-fuck-you-its-not-in-the-back-you-stupid-breeder-if-it-was-in-the-back-it-would-have-showed-that-it-was-in-the-back-besides-lets-be-honest-here-you-are-far-past-the-time-in-life-when-its-socially-okay-for-you-to-wear-this"
came out.
Maybe-I-should-shove-it-up-your-ass-if-I-find-it, I added. Mentally.
"Sure" I said again and smiled just to spite her. I liked my
smile. It was the only girlish thing I think that I had down without having
to try too hard.
I walked away, sashaying again just to illustrate the fact that I
was no "sir". Not entirely. I added a little hip-pop when I walked through
the double-doors.
I spotted Norman, and gave him a look that said it all. He picked up
on it, instantaneously.
"She sent you back here?"
"Yep" Another look.
"And expects you to just magically find it?'
"Yep" Another look.
"And she is under the impression that your one God-given talent in
the world is magically shitting lycra leggings and that it can only be
activated in the vicinity of my backroom?"
I snorted and busted out laughing.
My laugh betrays me most of the time if I'm not careful. I usually
try to draw attention back to my smile. It is a deep, dirty, and masculine
laugh. Husky, some would call it. I always tilt my head down so that my
bobbing Adam's apple doesn't make itself too pronounced and become the
Iscariot to my Judas of a chuckle.
"Yep", I said back, before chortling again.
Norman dug into a fanny pack he kept on him, filled with tape, box
cutters, bandaids and Starburst. Shaking his head all the while, he tossed
me a lemon one and said "Perk up, kid. The night's almost over. Should be
boring from here on."
I unwrapped the Starburst and popped it in my mouth, smiling at the
sweet taste.
"Thanks, Norm. Back to it, I guess"
"Yep. May the Force be with you" he replied, laughing at himself and
walking into one of the tall aisles, scanning gun in hand. I always
wondered what you could get away with, deep in the back of the aisles. The
brand was too cheap to stick cameras in every little crevasse. You had to
have a blindspot somewhere, I reasoned to no one in particular.
The lady had followed me to the backroom doors, talking on her cell
phone. When I stopped in front of her, all she said was an impatient
"Well?" she asked, impatiently putting the phone against her
shoulder.
"I'm sorry ma'am, no luck. I could check other store locations for
you if you'd like" and I subconsciously added "And inflict you on some poor
other lackey" to my offer of checking somewhere else. All the while she
talked over me with "Well, Tucker has a playdate with one of his little
friends. Maybe we can do lunch when the kids are out? Its just so hard
these days to find time"
She shook her head. Not even spoken. I don't even merit verbal
confirmation, apparently. Let alone a "thank you". And then she walked
away. Cunt.
I took a deep breath and walked back to Kayla, where she was doing a
slow clap.
"No good deed goes unpunished"
"That bitch sent me back there, and didn't even listen when I came
back out on her little fucking quest"
"Yeah. Here, check this out"
Kayla ability to bounce back from anything like it never happened
was both admirable and annoying. Grudges could be delicious and I did so
love to brood. I was starting to feel a bit better than before- I
attributed it to the Starburst. Or righteous indignation.
She found a cream colored blouse, low cut, and very flattering. She
put it with a pair of pitch black jeans and a belt from one of the in-house
brands. It pulled together nicely and she certainly had a talent. Her
pricing left much to be desired though. I balked at the tag prices, even
with the discount shaving off a little from the top. It was made all the
more saddening when I realized that these were low prices in general.
Another guest walked up and asked Kayla something, and they walked
over to another part of the store. I admired the outfit one last time, and
then went to go find wherever it is that she pulled the components from to
put them back. It was getting closer and closer to that time where we tidy
everything up and go home for the night. The best time of the day, if you
asked anyone.
I turned around, took a step with my eyes still following Kayla with
the younger girl she was with and realized about halfway through that I was
going to step right into someone's back. It was a broad back too, seemingly
solid and unyielding
True to form, I bumped right in and stumbled a bit back, muttering
apologies and flushing.
"Oh my god, sir, I am so sorry"
The back turned and a chest, neck and face replaced it. The man was
tall, much taller than I was. He was broad too. Not fat at all, but just a
large man. He reminded me of a general or even a clean-shaven biker. I felt
tiny compared to him, and when he spoke, the voice was deep and came from a
striking mouth that wore an amused, wry smile. He was completely bald-
shaved though. An almost brutal look that was toned down by the fact he
smiled.
"That's ok, hon, you're alright It looks like you almost lost your
footing" he rumbled and his voice was silky-smooth, with little trace of
hesitation for him to pick out his words.
"I'm fine sir, peachy keen. Um, is there anything I can help you
find?" I faked my recovery, still embarrassed, even as wobbled a touch when
my prior dizziness decided to add itself into the mix.
"Is it that obvious? I could use with a hand, truth be told. I'm
looking for something for a woman who's just about your size. I've no idea
where to even begin looking." He glanced me up and down and nodded a touch.
I was about 5'3" in my sneakers and slim. I severely doubted that I
had anywhere close to the bust of the woman he had had in mind, but I may
as well possessed double-D's in my own delusions. I was also extremely
proud of the well-defined little bitchtits I had sprouted recently, what
with all of the estrogen pills pumping through me.
My other measurements were just fine too- 20" waist and 32" hips, if
I had had to hazard a guess. Internet camwhoring could be a wonderful boost
to self-esteem, but I'm sure the compliments were just shallow enticements
for me to show-off more of myself.
"So, what sort of outfit are you looking for? Formal, casual,
intimate?" I pretended, all business-like with no actual skill to back it
up.
"Close. All three, actually. I need the outfit for a date night-
something that you could wear to a restaurant, nothing too dressy, but
still attractive." There was an undertone to his confident words, one that
spoke "I need it too look good at dinner, in the theater, and crumpled up
on the floor next to the bed". That confidence had a sublime charm that
drew me to him.
"Well, sounds like a challenge then" I winked.
"Do you think we can manage?" he asked, playfully.
"Well, we'll certainly try." I walked in front of him, whistling
tunelessly and leading him through the aisles and clothes racks. We snaked
here and meandered there and I looked back every so often and noticed that
each time I did, I caught him in the last milliseconds of his eyes coming
up from my body.
"Still here" He'd say, each time, completely guilt-free.
I shrugged mentally, and kept moving, stopping every so often to
grab a couple of things into the ever-increasing pile I was loading into my
arms. I ended up near the intimates racks- common store brand lingerie, not
high class, but affordable and tasteful in my opinion. Not every intimate
moment requires "the good stuff". Sometimes, big-box lingerie did its job
just as well as the pricey stuff.
I put the clothes on a rack while I did my salesman/girl's pitch.
"The skirt here is a light material, but durable- it would perfect
for a formal occasion, yet still be comfortable enough to just wear
around. Black is always a classic color and works everywhere. No worries
about her being in uncomfortable clothes."
He nodded, muttering "Right. Absolutely."
"This top is much the same too- same idea, and it matches with the
skirt wonderfully." I said, trying to sound interesting as his gaze seemed
to jump disinterestedly at the clothes and then more interestedly at me. I
felt my face starting to warm and I fought the rising urge to giggle
girlishly to about mid-chest before it surrendered into a smile.
I reached over to the intimate wear, and pulled a garter belt rig,
with black satin panties. The crotch portion widened into a normal panty
shape, but there was a strip of hot pink mesh that ran from the
lace-covered elastic band downward right down the middle. There was a
delicate bow near the top of the mesh strip, drooping low, and tiny little
bows right where the garter's belts dangled. I added those, nodded once and
smiled again. I didn't want to be creepy by going into exactly why the
lingerie was perfect- it spoke for itself.
"I think these will be perfect" he said, pointing to the lingerie
"Right size, right?" He laughed at his play on words, and I let the giggle
out again.
"They're a touch more comfortable with the pants, because they're
cut closer to the body. Lingerie isn't all about looks" I said,
matter-of-factly. I was an expert on this- Cosmo had told me so.
"You about a size five?" he said, openly appraising me. I suppose it
was the right action to accompany discussing something like that. I almost
jumped at it, but had to remind myself that a girl would likely feel
scandalized at being asked to answer that.
His words were laced with a tone of command however, one that felt
like I should respond with a "Yes, Sir!" or a "No, Sir!", as if I was
dressed in nothing but a helmet and GI socks.
"Yes..sir" I hesitated on the "sir" part, wanting to say just a
cocky retail-slave "yeah" I answered in spite of myself.
He picked up the top, and held it up to me, looking satisfied. He
then did the same with the skirt, but laid the fabric up against my legs
and hips. He then walked behind me, and did the same from behind. His
fingers pressed the waist of the skirt to my waist, and then adjusted the
skirt, his fingers dancing lightly my waist and occasionally my ass as he
adjusted everything without even asking permission (which, I would have
gladly given). It was uncomfortable though. Something very American in me
rebelled against having someone that close. I didn't want to say anything
though- partially out of shock, partially out of tolerance. Maybe he was
just a touchy person.
"Hmm, yes. I think it'll sit just nicely across the hips. She'll
love it."
Will. She will love it. His words brooked no argument or
disagreement. She was lucky.
"You know, while I'm here, do you have men's business clothes? I
need something a bit more comfortable than what I have now. Help me find
some." And pointed with his head towards the Men's section.
I nodded, and picked up the pile of clothes set on one of the racks,
folding them up and hanging onto them for him. As I walked away, he reached
out, and grabbed my shoulder, near where it meets my neck.
"Wait, you forgot something" He said, as he handed me the lingerie
that I had picked out and laid them on the pile draped in my arm.
"Oh, right. Got to have the complete outfit" I smiled at him, and
continued on.
The shirt, and slacks were easily picked out. Unlike the shopping
for his girl, he knew exactly what he wanted in color and cut, just that it
was actually comfortable.
"Mm, those are just the ticket." He walked up next to me, and put
his hand on my upper back, pointing to the table with the shirts folded up
on them. A small, barely noticeable push with the one hand and we started
to walk over. Within three seconds, he'd snapped up one.
"So, do you have a fitting room here? I don't think I can just strip
down and get changed right here?" He regarded me with his brown eyes, and I
noticed that there was a small gap between "strip down" and the rest of it.
"Oh, yes, of course. Follow me and I'll show you" I affirmed and we
walked into the little fitting room stations, set into the middle of the
store. The gentleman removed his hand as we walk in, and I pulled a card
from the little hanger, a large tag with "6" emblazoned in bold on it, and
I gave it to the man.
"Show me which one, so I don't take the wrong booth. If you could be
so kind". I non-chalantly checked behind me, to see that no one was
watching. We're not really supposed to enter the men's fitting rooms if
there is a guest changing- its a rule that is often broken, but it was
really not the best idea to bite the hand that feeds.
I found a changing room towards the back- a handicap one, but I knew
it was the most spacious and private. I reasoned that the man is buying
some pretty expensive clothing, and if a guest is dropping money like that,
it means that I might be able to sneak a tip for good service. Strictly
off-the-record, of course, but why not?
I opened the door and stood off to the side for the man to step
through. When he didn't, I turned and asked
"Is everything alright with this one, Sir?"
"Oh yes, everything is perfectly fine. Though, I could use some
assistance with these clothes, if you can help."
"Um. Well, I'm not really supposed to. I mean, they don't want
any...ahem...hanky panky going on, so sales floor people aren't really
supposed to go in" I saw his eyes change, turning from commanding into near
flinty- as if this slight hitch is something to be cleared, and cleared
quickly.
"I'd be happy to tip- I'm pretty sure you don't get tipped often" he
observed. Accurately.
"Hardly ever" I muttered. I regrouped and responded with a hearty
"Know what? Forget it. I can help you. You buy all these clothes,
there should be no reason why I can't continue to assist" Also, the
handicapped fitting room wasn't easily spotted from the entrance, so if a
manager walked by, they wouldn't see two pairs of shoes where there ought
to be only one.
I laughed, nervously. I figure making it seem that I'm breaking the
rules for him might increase my chances for a little extra and hey, if I
can make a lifelong shopper out of him, so much the better.
"Excellent. Ah, ladies first" He said, hesitating at "ladies" only
slightly. I swallowed and stepped through the door, and felt his eyes
sweeping over me the entire time as I walked inside. He quickly followed
and closed the door.
He put the clothes down on the floor and it filled the short gap
from door to floor nicely. There was a gap at the top of the door, but it
was relatively narrow, and neither of us could be seen through there
anyway.
I couldn't help but cock an eyebrow in curiosity though. His
movements were sure and quick, as if he had done this before. He seemed
unconcerned though, and sat down upon the bench when he finished, unlacing
his expensive-looking Italian leather wingtip, paying as much heed to me as
he did it. As if I were a coatrack in there with him. I rocked on my
sneakers, awkwardly, and feigned interest in adjusting the mirror against
one of the walls. It was crooked and cracked slightly at the top corner.
His size was something that I seemed to have underestimated as I
watched him in the mirror. He really was a large man, and after a quick
remembrance that I myself was tiny, I couldn't help but think of what the
girl those clothes are for must herself think of him. The disparity must
have made for some interesting contortions in the bedroom.
Or maybe the kitchen, I mentally flashed. Him coming home from work,
and her making some sort of bad dinner, dressed in panties and a large
t-shirt.
His head was shaved- cleanly. It was hard to tell it was shaved, but
there was a thin tracery of stubble near the crown from where he must have
ran a razor over it no later than this morning and it had grown back a
touch. His face seemed young- though his brown eyes were his tell. They
were lined crisply and not noticeable on a first scan, but made me put his
age safely into the mid-forties range. His white, straight teeth and his
eyes were one of the best features about him. His nose was straight and
unremarkable, and his face proportioned nicely, but brutal. I mentally
guessed that business was his trade- and I could only imagine him using
that physical bearing to his advantage in a mental game.
As he set down one socked foot, and picked up the other leather-clad
foot to undo the laces, I became keenly aware of the awkward silence.
"So, those are some, uh, nice shoes. Do you always wear such nice
things?"
"Oh yes, I try to. It always pays for a boy to look his best, don't
you agree?" His eyes meet mine, and there was a wry smile on his face.
"Yes, yes of course." I acknowledged. His eyes were still stuck upon
me, and his smile was fixed as he unknotted the laces without looking. Kind
of creepy, and I shifted nervously from one foot to another before he
chuckled once and stood up.
Silence, again, as he stood up, and began to unbutton his shirt. The
boldness was a tad disconcerting, and I turned my head to look at the
door. He said nothing, and finished up, with the shirt landing in a rough
pile on the ground near his feet.
"That's a very nice shirt you had on. Silk?" I asked,
embarrassed. His chest was broad, and muscled. But he wasn't chiseled like
a bodybuilder would have been, nor was he stripped of any hair. There was a
thin thatch of chest hair, short-cropped and smooth. It was hardly what I
was expecting-something wiry and more akin to bristle. It was a pleasant
surprise to see it so straight, and I could only imagine silky.
"Hm? Oh. Yeah." he affirmed, nonchalantly.
He slowly started to button up the new shirt, affixing the tie back
on, and looked this way to the left and that way to the right in the
mirror. He nodded, once, to show his approval approval, and began to strip
off the new shirt, leaving it half buttoned before moving his hands down.
He started to fiddle with his belt when I felt my cheeks burn like
embers.
"Oh, where are my manners?" He said, turning towards the corner,
though not so far as that I can't see him from where I stand, facing the
mirror, intently faking interested in the cracked corner.
His body was divine in a very mature way. Far from aging like fine
wine, he had aged much like a steak- retaining meatiness, while acquiring
dignity and taste. The hair on his chest and arms ran from black to gray in
a salt and pepper appearance that was shot with more pepper than salt. I
could only guess it was as silky as I imagined it to be. I noticed that
when he took his original shirt off, the garment did his upper body no
justice. It was much more impressive upon seeing it in the flesh, so to
speak. He looked utterly confident and maturely masculine. He was the type
of man that many would feel natural calling "Daddy". I felt my panties
begin to tighten, considerably.
I feel an almost daughter/son like affection for the man- the arms
appeared strong without being overly muscular, and the command in his voice
was shot with compassion. It all added up to a man that I was starting to
feel a sudden and deep attraction too. My burning face must have been a
terrible giveaway for it, yet my most obvious and awkward tell was still
secreted in the khaki skirt that clung to my hips, half-turgid at the
thought of running my hands on his chest.
I heard his belt jingle as his pants dropped to the ground. He
gestured once with his right hand, and I stooped down to pick up the new
pants from the pile on the ground and hand them to him. Taking them in
hand, he put one foot in and then the other, pulled them to his hips and
fastened the button after tucking in the shirt tail. He turned around,
finishing the top buttons and hiding his chest from view.
"V-very nice, sir. Though, they do seem to be a little tight around
the upper thighs and around your bottom, sir" I stammered, feeling my
throat constrict all of a sudden.
"Yes, they do feel a bit constrictive, though I imagine they will
stretch out nice and even. Gives me motivation to work out more, I
suppose." He laughed to himself.
"A boy has to look his best, doesn't he?"
I nodded again and he kicked the pants he just stripped off to the
pile blocking the lower gap of the door. It was starting to feel warm in
the little fitting room, and my dizzy spell was starting to making little,
tiny appearances.
"These are some fine pants, and you did a fine job. What was your
name, so that I know who to talk to next time?"
"Morgan, sir. And you are?" I nodded graciously, smiling
awkwardly. All I did there was hand him clothes. And ogle him fiercely.
"Andrew" He didn't offer his hand, nor did he seem offended that I
did not. He did reach for his bill-fold, and pulled a crisp fifty dollar
bill from it. He didn't look bashful, though I certainly did when I grabbed
it, gave him an honest smile, and put it into a small side pocket on my
skirt.
It had been a good couple of minutes since we had walked into the
fitting rooms, and I excused myself briefly to poke my head out around the
corner to check to see if the desk was manned yet. I noticed Lorraine
sitting there- a young girl from Jersey, and I felt a tad relieved that
there wasn't some angry manager from some other part of the store, wanting
to know where I had gotten off to. It was a weeknight though, and even
with the holiday's, there really weren't' that many people shopping there
yet. She was doing a paper inventory check with an earbud tucked into her
ear and carefully concealed by her hair.
As I stepped back into the fitting room, to tidy up and gather
Andrew's clothes together for him, I turned and saw that he was standing
less than six inches away from me. He seemed to be scrutinizing my neck and
face, his eyebrow cocked.
"Uh, hi? Is something the matter?" I asked, cheeks starting to burn
from the sudden inspection. I leaned back a touch, back arched slightly
away from him. I supposed it was to give him room, but for some reason, the
thought of him moving didn't strike me. My small tits flared a touch- they
were sensitive and the sudden constriction against my bra reminded me of
that fact.
"No, nothing at all" He said, quietly, continuing his examination. I
swallowed and kept leaning back.
"That's a lovely skirt you have on. And a very tasteful
blouse. Silk, I would think, looking at it."
"No, sir, I couldn't afford such a thing like that. Would be nice
though, heh" I laughed nervously and take a small step back. Right into the
opposite wall. I recovered and took a small, baby-step forward.
"Well, silk or no, I would say that you've taken the idea to heart-
that a boy needs to look his best" He seemed to emphasize every word in the
latter part of his statement, punctuating it with a gaze that pierced me
through the gut.
I froze. His words lingered in the air like they were hung there,
and his eyes bored into mine. He smiled wryly.
"Oh, come now, you look incredibly convincing, but lets face it, a
man knows what he's looking for" He laid a finger alongside his nose and
tapped. "Also" he added "you may want to work on making your Adam's apple
less noticeable- though, you did a bang up job regardless. I'd recommend a
silk scarf, honestly. You'd pull it off nicely."
I was fire engine red by that point, the exact same shade as the
lipstick that I keep for special occasions. I felt flustered and every
variation I had in my head of bolting out the door was partially conceived
and then was aborted immediately when I saw him close the door.
"Relax, son, its alright. Well, perhaps not son. At least not by
choice, I'd imagine." He mused, and took a step forward.
He had laid his large and powerful hand on my shoulder, near where
my neck began to slope upwards. I tried to make sure my neck didn't get too
muscular and masculine, as that was another straight-up tell as to what I
was secreting in my skirt. I was thankful that bad genetics and a bottle of
stolen Nair kept my body baby-smooth and free of hair.
His touch was innocent enough to write off as a friendly gesture of
comfort, and flirtatious enough to be an ideal opening move if his gamble
proved correct. His hand's aim was immaculate.
Biology is a wicked thing- it betrays you in the best of times, yet
it is inextricably a part of who you are. I felt my heart rise in my chest,
slightly as I felt his fingers drum faintly into my neck and stay there.
My panties were also a largely wet and humid tent by now. The male
body does strange things when the combination of black market pills and
Life's Little Embarrassments collide. I found myself achingly hard, and the
rush of chemicals through my gender confused brain made me simmer with
desire for the man, and yet I wanted to deny it all vehemently as a man
would. Perhaps I should challenge him to a duel, that's pretty convincing,
right? A slap across the face, a protestation that I was in fact a woman
would be dramatic and convincing. At least, I thought it did. I was
probably putting off clouds of fuck-me pheromones though. I imagined that I
could smell something different from myself, something tinged with
desperation and desire.
His thumb stroked my neck and I looked at him. The latest move in a
game that he was probably playing since he first saw me. My shoulders
slumped in defeat and I nodded, somewhat dejectedly. His wry smile was
still there and comfortingly genuine, and his eyes seemed to relay all that
I wanted to know about his intentions. I took a step forward in spite of
myself. His smile spoke a word to me soundlessly: checkmate.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I backed away for a bit to make the
height difference less awkward for him. His eyes locked into mine, and
there was a flash of displeasure at what he thought was hesistation.
The man was large and I had no illusions about being able to beat
him up or anything monumentally stupid like that. Besides, even if I did
refuse, all he had to do was say something to Big Brother, and I'd be out
of job. They'd probably think him a creeper. They'd think me a tramp AND a
liability. I was never any good at math, but this one added up and put all
thoughts of hesitation to a little, dark box in the corner of my mind. I
swallowed any fear and let him kiss my cheek, ear, throat before he touched
my lips with his. His mouth was warm, and very wet. I smiled around his
lips and breathed in deep, being pleasantly shocked by his cologne.
He put his hands on my shoulders, and turned me around so that I
faced the mirror. His hands disappeared momentarily as he checked the door,
kicked some more clothing in front of the gap.
And then started to hurriedly drop his pants to the ground, right
around his ankles.
As I stood there, watching all of this behind me, my thoughts raced
"He wants sex. He wants to fuck me. Is this appropriate? It *is* what I
fantasize about all of the time, so why I am so nervous?"
"You been fucked before, hon?" He asked, lips an inch away from my
ear. His new pants were bedecking his ankles while he rooted around in the
pocket of his old pants. It was almost funny- normally, one would lose all
sense of dignity having one's pants around their ankles. All it did for him
was to add to his overall bearing. Like his pants were being made to grovel
at his feet for some transgression. His boxer-briefs stayed on, however. I
could only assume "for now".
My throat tightened again and I stammered, again "Once. A long while
ago with..um..a boyfriend when I was in high school." I followed up with a
hasty "We stopped though, it hurt too much and he kept doing it wrong". My
tone inadvertently added "and that was that, never to happen again, not
then, and not now in this fitting room".
He nodded, acknowledging my response, but sending the impression
that his was not some teenager's dick, fumbling in the crack of his
cross-dressing boyfriend's ass. A simple grunt said it all "This is going
to happen regardless, but it will happen correctly and you will enjoy it".
He stood at his full height, and it just reinforced the disparity in
size. I really was tiny compared to him, nearly a child. He seemed to
notice it too, smiling and taking the time to gently stroke my long,
dark-brown hair aside, fingers tracing along the red of my blouse and down
to the hem of my skirt.
"You're beautiful." He said, piercing my eyes with his through the
mirror. I shudder to think what it would have been like had it been direct
eye contact- something like Medusa, I should imagine. I didn't dare shrug
off the compliment either. I acknowledged it like a good girl.
"Thank you...Sir" I responded, gulping drily.
His head cocked slightly and he nodded "Yes, I like that. Sir. You
call me Sir from here on out. Is that understood?" He looked at me, locking
eyes and with his chin down as I bobbed my head at my reflection.
"Like an obedient puppy, aren't you? I admire that. I admire that
greatly, my boy" He let his hands linger at my budding little breasts-
breasts that were becoming incredibly tender and sensitive right then and
there.
A look crossed his face, as he found what he was looking for in his
pants' pocket. As he brought it up, I saw a brief flash of a small bottle
of something. Travel sized for convenience.
"I had a feeling that I would need this tonight. Perhaps I'll need
it again later on" he chuckled and continued
"I'm clean, so there will be no condom, though you shouldn't have
any fear of anything ...lingering"
I nodded, dumbstruck. This was all happening fast, yet not fast
enough or slow enough for me. I craved him on a basic level, a sounding
desire to be made subservient. Skipping to "the good part" made me feel
slightly robbed- like a child given icecream, but no icecream cone.
He locked eyes with me again, his head on my shoulder, and his hands
crept down my skirt, and up underneath, his eye contact making me feel
faint nearly the entire time. His fingers hooked into the elastic of my
pink panties, and started to pull them down. I expected them to end at my
knees, but he bade one leg out, and then the other following suit, catching
momentarily on my sneakers. He brought them to our faces, smelled them and
smiled as he put them to my nose. I could smell my fragrant soap and the
wafting odor of leaked pre-cum.
He muttered hotly and wetly into my ear—
"Now Morgan, I need to put this into your mouth. While I like to
hear my fucktoy's cries, we cannot be prematurely interrupted this
time. Nod if you agree".
Nod.
"Enjoy this, but you will have to make every attempt to stifle
yourself. Nod again."
Nod.
"Good. Why, puppy, I believe this might be the start of a beautiful
relationship."
Nod nod. Sarcasm? I wasn't sure and didn't put much thought into
it. I nodded again, for good measure.
He smiled, kissed my neck empathetically, and put the panties into
my hands. I felt the simple cotton fabric in my fingers, rubbing my hands
across them. I hoped they would be enough to stifle any sounds- voluntary
or involuntary as they may be. I looked at the panties one last time before
I stuffed them into my mouth like a greedy child with cake.
His hands were busy in the meantime, squirting a fair amount of the
strawberry scented lubricant onto his fingertips. His fingers, broad and
rough, dipped under my skirt and located where my full and round asscheeks
parted easily enough. I stole what felt like a fortune on Nair and was
utterly hairless. It made the silk of panties feel that much better. He
stroked one lubricatedfinger across the surface of my waiting cavity,
teasing me befor he rubbed more of the lubricant onto, and partially into,
my waiting and puckered hole. It was shockingly cold, but warmed
considerably as he massaged it as deep as he could to make my breaching
easier.
"Mmm, tight. Your ass is fighting my fingers, Morgan. Are you sure
you want this, babygirl?"
His lubricant streaked fingers found my hand and put it into his
boxer-briefs and onto his cock. I would wager his piece of meat was seven
or so inches at a guess, which was a far cry from my own paltry and
estrogen-shrunken five. I couldn't see it, but that wasn't necessary at
that point. I felt nearly every vein through my slightly shaky hands. But
while he lacked the length of the pornstars that I fantasized over so much,
he was thick. Not quite as round as a beer can, but I knew immediately that
his dick was not to be trifled with. It might as well have felt like a
baseball bat to me.
I nodded, vigorously, like a child being offered a treat. I even
made a sound
"Mmphgh!" which was my "yes!"
He laughed a deep throaty sound, muted at the last minute before it
carried , and thrust his cock through my fist, pumping it twice before
putting his hand upon mine and squeezed, gently. There wouldn't be any
foreplay. I could feel his insistence that the deed be done, though in an
entirely gentlemanly way.
A thought visibly crossed his face, and he found the red dry-erase
marker that I had stored in a side pocket on the waist of the skirt. It
poked out of the faux-pocket and he pinched the top of it with slick
fingers. He then drew two, small concentric circles, about waist height for
me. It was a bullseye, and he leaned in close, my right hand wrapped firmly
around his cock, gently letting my hand play up and down it, my wrist
growing slightly sore from the odd angle.
"Puppy. You will cum soon and hit that bullseye when you do. Oh, and
it must be hands-free too. You are not to touch yourself while I am taking
you. Is that understood? I like my women to have a challenge when they're
being fucked. It makes them that much more talented. Can you live up to
that, Puppy?"
Bullseye. Cum. Challenge. Check, check, check. I nodded.
"Good. Now, assume your position- I want this"- he prodded my skirt
covered ass with his hard and wet cock- "and I want you. Now."
I withdrew from his boxer-briefs and put both my hands onto the
mirror, lubricant squeaking as it smeared across the glass surface as his
strong, paw like hands found my hips under my skirt. He pulled his
undergarments down and then flipped the skirt up so that my full and
rounded ass was bare and then I felt his thumbs dig into my asscheeks,
spreading them open. I observed him shift his weight a tad forward until I
felt something warm, and slickly hard resting against what was, for the
longest time, an egress. It was blunt and unyielding and I immediately
pictured a hard-rubber toy baton my brother used to have when we played
cops and robbers.
He took a deep breath, and I tried to match it. Only, I was
interrupted by a sudden and insistent pressure. Right. There.
Whatever euphemism you choose,- that there was someone knocking upon
my backdoor, that I had a package being sent around back, or there was an
unexpected item in my baggage area- his cock was very real and very
hard. His grip on my hips increased and tightened as I felt the first of my
assholes' rings start to naturally fight him. Powering through, he
continued his initial thrust, each muscular barrier being overcome slowly
and deliciously. There wasn't any adolescent poking and prodding—
indeed, his accuracy and skill was evident, and there I was, getting fucked
for the first time in my life.
I closed my eyes, as the first wave of pain started to course
through me. It was controlled, and I hitched in my breath. There was an
enormous pressure where there wasn't before and I fought a natural urge to
contract my ass and squeeze it out. I gritted my teeth somewhat, and
shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet. Noticing, he stopped, giving
me blessed time to recoup and brace for the next round. It felt like a log
was being put inside of me, bark and all.
"Mmm, Morgan. You're exquisitely tight" he hissed into my ear, all
slick and debonair.
Finally, I felt the last bit of resistance surrender, and he slid
what must have been an inch into me. The first two inches of him were now
firmly impacted inside of me and I felt suitably breached.
He stood still, as my asshole fluttered and tried to cope with its
newly adjusted size. I slid my right hand down the mirror a bit, and heard
the squeak as the lubricant made the mirror sing. Bracing against the
mirror, I pushed back a bit against him. His fingers clenched at my waist,
and he shook his head "no".
He lifted one hand from my hips, stroked one part of my long hair in
front of my eyes, and then brushed the other side back behind my ear. It
gave me a sultry look as I opened my eyes. His face neared, and he spoke
into my ear
"Are you ready, Puppy? Push down, so that it feels better" For
me. And you.
I bore down, and his left hand clenched into my waist, hard and
painfully digging in. I was going to have bruises after this, though I was
oddly alright with that at the time. It kept me steady though as be
burrowed deeper inside of me.
His right hand was pressed against my small breasts. He groped and
squeezed, pawing at me as I felt more and more of him slide inside of me.
He would break every so often, to stop and savor the contractions as
my confused body put every muscle into twitch-and-shake mode. I felt him
throb, hard, up inside of me, and I heard a small squelch of lubricant as
some air escaped around where the shaft of his cock had made itself
comfortable.
I heard him swallow, and swallowed myself as the grip in both hands
increased and he finally shoved all of himself into me. I knew that he had
alighted home by the way his head rested on top of mine, and I heard him
breathe deeply right by my right ear. My boyhole felt stretched beyond what
I had ever imagine my limits being. The pain lessened as the promised
pleasure set in, but I couldn't help but wonder if I had been pushed too
far and too fast. Would my body keep up with what my mind craved? My knees
almost caved at the last shock of pain cracked through me- hard, fast and
unyielding, almost like I was being stabbed with something metallic and
sharp.
"My boy, my sweet beautiful boy. You're so goddamm tight, and it
feels so fucking wonderful" He said, kissing the top of my head like I was
a child.
I nodded, distracted and found myself fighting for breath, gingerly
trying to limit movement so that the subsiding full, packed feeling from my
bowls didn't flare into pain again.
The entire moment, and the sudden new addition to my anal cavity
made me crave oxygen in much the same way I had craved him to be inside of
me just minutes before. I felt nearly every damn inch of him now, but in
different ways. The first couple of inches were singing in delight, while
deeper inside there wasn't much sensation other than warmth and pleasant
pressure.
"Now Puppy, I need you to keep yourself together. This might be a
little much for you now, but I have faith in you" he said, patronizingly.
And he slid himself all the way out fast, until I felt his head
clear my aching hole with a small squelch of lubricant. It was honestly
felt like I was dumping out a football and I had a moment of panic that I
may have made a mess of things.
I had no time to recover though, managing "Oh, fuck!" in my head
before I was fucked deep, and all the way to his balls (I know they were
his balls from the way they slapped up against me and my small, hairless
own). His insistence on pushing me beyond the virginal "take it slow" pace
was novel, and I felt my cocklette surge in excitement. It hurt though. It
hurt like a motherfucker still, and I ground my teeth against the cotton
that was shoved in my mouth, groaning "Hrgggnh!" when I heard the slick
sound of his ramming cock sliding into my well-lubricated cunt.
My eyes must have rolled back inside of my head as he did that, as
everything went dark and I couldn't help but half scream and half moan into
the gag. He had slid the entire length of himself against something that
was still very male inside of me. The fact that his cock felt as round as a
can of coke now that it was insidemeant it was pressing wonderfully against
it as each inch slithered against that spot.
There was still pain though.. The clutch that he had on my hip had
increased to the point where it throbbed around his fingers, to say nothing
of the arcing lightnings of pain that lanced through me from my ass, though
they weren't as frequent as he sat still, warming his cock like a warm
sleeve or something similar for it. Those lances though were followed by
sweet drippings of pleasure that I am hard pressed to describe adequately.
"Mmmmpgggghhhhmhhhgggghpppphhhggh!" I managed, breathing like a
bellows through my nose.
"Shhhh, shhh, Puppy. Be quiet, you must not be heard!" He leaned
down and whispered persistently in my ear.
I nodded, once and hung my head down to concentrate on every last
sensation of the encounter.
He sighed as his slid back out and then slid back in, this time so
deep and hard that I rose onto my tippy toes as he ground his hips into the
padding of my butt. My asshole was feeling raw and abused already, and I
don't think he cared all that much that it had been years since I had had
anything inside of me other than a finger or two. There wasn't much in the
way of the now-familiary pain though, and his angle of approach again
nailed my prostate wonderfully.
His hands dipped back to my hips, and he thankfully eased his grab
on me. I could tell by the set of his legs though, that I was about to
pumped fast and hard. Inside and then out to the tip. From the ruddy end,
to the stubby growth around the bottom of his treetrunk shaf – he fucked
me hard. Relentlessly. Yet, there was an odd compassion. Every time it
seemed to be too much, he sensed this and rested for a few seconds. True
mercy would have been sliding it out of me for good though.
His cock thrust into me and stopped at varying depths. Midshaft left
me feeling the round and thick pulse of him. Popping just the head in, I
swear I could feel the little ridge from what I assumed was where the
prodigiously thick cockhead met his equally impressive shaft. It was as if
he and I were dead-set on my knowing every inch of his pole with the round
and tight pucker of my girlish ass.
And he did love my ass, I felt. His hands would caress me every so
often as he penetrated and fucked me, grabbing a hold of a chunk of flesh
and squeezing, hard. Pinching it between all five of his fingers. I saw his
hand cock every now and then off to the side as he slid out of me, and I
knew that he wanted to spank me, punishingly hard. He even raised his hand
once and I felt a momentary pang of fear as I realized the sound would
carry. Though he put it down, apparently thinking better of it and looking
disappointed.
Amazingly though, there wasn't much of a slap as he ploughed into
me. I think my skirt and the tails of his shirt drooping down around his
waist cushioned it somewhat, and I only heard a small, fleshy impact and a
slick hiss as the lubricant eased his passing inside of me.
Or, in hindsight, I think he just had that much control that he was
able to rocket up into me, and stop before the front of his thighs smacked
into my ass.
His hand ran over his head as he looked into the mirror, where I
could only assume he was smiling that wry smile as he plowed me like a
farmer working the field. He blew a kiss at me and grinned at his own
reflection, and my half-lidded eyes.
On and on, each successive thrust drove me up a wall of pleasure and
back down. My legs started to ache from being spread wide to accommodate
him, and my back was starting to ache from being arced involuntarily just
from how good it felt.
I felt a familiar tightness in my torso- spreading from where my
still male balls fought against all the estrogen coursing inside of me. His
thrusts had naturally moved me close to the mirror, and the increased
weight on my hands (from where he slammed his cock into me with what seemed
all his body weight, but I was so delirious, I cannot be certain) worried
me that I would crack the mirror further. The wall was solid though, built
up against one of the support beams, so there was hardly any danger of
shaking our surroundings.
His breath streamed out of him, and I would imagine that's how a
horse, or a bull, or a similarly large mammal would sound.
My heart fluttered, my balls ached, and then it seemed that he
slowed himself. He cleared me completely, and I felt raw and open. His dick
thudded into me, and caught that part of me at just the right angle
again. I saw blinding white, and something inside of me broke. I couldn't
help it as I started to throw rope after rope of cum onto the bullseye set
at waist height, rubbing the tip of my little cocklette against the glass
surface, spewing cum all over the place.
"Fucckmgphhhghmehphehgphgh" I moaned as quiet as I could manage.
I came for longer than I could ever remember and so hard that it
actually hurt in a pleasurable sort of way at first. It was even longer
than when my first boyfriend let me cum in his mouth.
I hadn't touched myself like that in a good, long while. I suppose I
was denying that I was a boy. Denying any part of me that said that my
place was as a woman, and that my place was at the end of a cock like
Sir's.
Finally, I felt myself stop, and saw that I had splattered the
mirror so much that it was running in several thick streams to the
floor. The bullseye gave my seed a pinkish hue as the ink rubbed off. Sir
seemed beyond caring though, at least right now.
His face was flushed, and his thrusts had gotten to be frantic and
erratic. I was starting to feel sober and sore, though by no means was I
not in the mood to be fucked more. My cock was semi-hard, flopping wetly
against my stomach and balls, staining the skin with ink-tinged cum and
splashing leftover semen on to the floor as he jostled me around while
stirring my bowls.
I spit out my gag, and caught his eye as he looked into the
mirror. I stuck my tongue out lasviciously at him and felt his dick throb
hard inside of me.
"Oh, Puppy" he whispered.
He did something then completely unexpected. He ran a hand up my
body, to the side of my neck and turned my head gently to the right. I
thought surely I would be kissed while his cock was still rooted inside of
me. He leaned down, as the height difference made things awkward and looked
into my eyes as I opened my mouth for what I expected was a kiss. Only to
receive a glob of spit, followed by a finger that had been swirled around
in my cum on the mirror.
My eyes registered shock as his registered a look that could only
serve to quash insubordination. His hand pushed up on my chin, firmly. I
was to accept his gift.
I felt my cocklette perk up slightly, hardly coming close to being
hard, but certainly interested as he brought himself back up to full height
from where he had leaned down.
Three more thrusts were to be mine before his arms viced around my
body, crushing my bitchtit breasts to me as his breath gusted hot
underneath my nose. He grunted into my ear
"Oh, fuck, Puppy. Morgan, you beautiful slut...take it for me!"
And he shot his load so deep into my bowels; I felt the warmth in my
stomach. Most would exaggerate this, but my stomach and belly area really
felt significantly warmer inside and a feeling of being very full from the
seed that he was pumping into me. His eyes clenched shut, and his bear hug
on me was robbing me of easy breath. I was almost afraid of him breaking a
few of my ribs.
He kept thrusting too- not short small little thrusts, but longer
and drawn out movements as he sprayed his semen all over the inside of my
rectum. He bent his knees a bit more and pulled me away from the wall,
trying to get his cock as under me as he could manage. It was made more
impressive because it got me off of my feet.
Pumping me twice more before settling me back down, he half crouched
in near exhaustion, clearly spent. I stood on my toes as his dick finally
registered that it was done for now. It was hard and rigid still, impaling
me as it had before. I was firmly stapled to this man for the time being,
and I was enjoying the pressure and fullness I now had time and the
spent-hormone sobriety to appreciate more.
I suddenly felt tired, exhausted really. I wanted to curl up and
sleep, still with my new friend firmly and inextricably inserted into my
now freshly fucked ass.
"Mmmmmm...phew" He said, blowing upwards as he swallowed. He tried
to stand up, but was brought down as my jelly like legs registered and my
weight shifted momentarily against the spike still tucked inside of me.
"Puppy, my girl, are you alright?" He asked, stroking my hair. I
wanted to say "no" because he then eased his dick out of me. It teased me
as it emptied from my hole, jabbing me wetly, before sliding the tip up the
crack of my moist ass. I clenched immedietly, trying to keep whatever was
implanted into me from leaking out yet.
He pointed the mirror, smiling with paternal pride,
"Oh, I see you liked that? Mmmm, I think you enjoyed that fucking
more than you thought you would, Puppy."
"Yes, yes Sir" I managed, drifting in a touch of fugue.
"Well, my boy" He looked at his watch "I think I can give you one
more gift before your absence would be noticed" I perked up in curiosity,
and turned around, even as his hands pressed my shoulders and forced me to
my knees.
"As you can see, Sir's cock is still wet from his new fucktoy. I
cannot put this back into my boxer-briefs- it would ruin them. So, you must
clean me. Do not try to make me cum again, I won't allow it. Just clean me
off."
I reached for my panties, partially wet from saliva and started to
bring them up. His hand popped me in the face- nothing painful, nor hard
enough to leave a mark, but enough to reassert dominance.
"Your mouth, girl. Use your tongue"
I leaned forward, hand bracing against the wall. I closed my eyes
and let his cockhead touch my tongue. I felt the salty taste of his cum,
mixed with strawberry lubricant, and what could only be the musty tang of
my own ass. I thought it would surely be disgusting, but as I sucked and
licked him, it wasn't all that bad. Acquired, to be sure.
I slurped a couple of times, mostly to prevent a string of saliva
from straying too far. There was more residue around the base, from where
the lubricant had been gathered when he pounded into me. It was whipped
into a frothy, white foam. The cum flavored taste of me was strong, and I
could smell myself on him.
His eyes were intently watching my ministrations, and once I noticed
this, I slapped his dick across my face, only to clean up the residue on my
cheek with my tongue. He smiled wryly, and stroked my hair as I mouthed
around the base, trying my best not to slurp more.
"Good girl. Now, up, up! Don't forget that you're still at work,
Puppy"
I don't think I could have been more disappointed if you told me
that Christmas was cancelled.
He ignored it however, and pulled his old pants over to his feet and
pulled them up, fixing his old shirt and tie back to the almost pristine
lines they had been in when he first came into the store. I checked my
watch and was astounded to see that it had only been fifteen or so minutes
since we adjourned. I almost felt cheated- a quickie surely would have
taken up more of the slow work-time, wouldn't it have?
I grabbed a pair of white sweat pants that had been left in the
fitting room and wiped at the cum on the mirror. The red ink stained deep,
and I figured to defect it out before someone noticed. Or maybe keep them
as a souvenier. I sniffed the air, noticing the tang of strawberrys, and
the smell of cum and sex. I inhaled again, enjoying my scent (and his!)
before I reached to open the door again. The air was noticeably less humid
outside and I would enjoy the temperature change. I felt a hand on my
shoulder though and Andrew turned to me and said
"Ah, Puppy, are you not forgetting something?" as he looked behind
him at the crumpled panties on the ground.
"Oh, right. Hehe" I faked a laugh, more annoyed at having to move
than forgetting them. I plucked them from the ground and was about to stuff
them into my bra when his hand extended, fingers all beckoning.
"Give them here, boy." He extended his hand fully and I dropped
them into the broad expanse. He put them into the pocket of his coat,
patting them down lovingly.
He produced a calling card from a pocket and handed it to me. An
actual, legitimate calling card. It was embossed and everything.
"I try to keep it traditional. This is my card, and I would love to
see you sometime. You're thin as a rail, and I don't think you would say no
to a more orthodox meal than cum-soaked leavings. If you want to meet up,
call or text me. If not, it's been wonderful, and I wish you the best"
I felt used, suddenly. A bubbly reality had been burst, and I had
walked out of that fitting room feeling a connection that I was foolish to
have felt. A simple quickie fuck shouldn't mean that much, and in the harsh
light of the florescent lightbulbs, I remembered that. But in a sex soaked
haze, its amazing what gets confused in an already hormonally drenched
mind.
Though, there was something about it that I felt incensed at, but
couldn't' feel angry at. He hadn't asked to shoot inside of me. He didn't
request any kind of consent. While not rape, it certainly was rude. But I
couldn't feel uppity about it. Not with it starting to drip out of me.
He bowed his head and walked away toward the cashiers and the
parking lot. Lorraine had gone off, and as I stood at the fitting room desk
noticeing that there was a loud ventilation fan going overhead. I was
surprised that I hadn't heard it before, but I had been fixated on the
tall, dark and handsome stranger.
My asshole felt loose, raw and was starting to ache more intently. I
peeled up my shirt quickly in one of the fitting rooms, and noticed that
the bruises from my fuck session were starting to form. Though, the pain
kept me focused on what had just happened, and it was a wonderful reminder
of that.
I walked gingerly, and each time I spread my legs more than a
fraction of an inch, I felt Andrew's load start to ooze out of me more. At
one point, I felt the trickle moving down my thigh before it stopped behind
me knee.
I must have looked crazy if someone had noticed that I had scraped a
long fingernail up my thigh and slurped off his cum for a brief taste. But
no one did, and it was just as delicious as I had imagined.
I smiled, and my stomach, for the first time in a good while, felt
content. There was a glow that not even a customer could diminish. A brief,
searing flash of memory hit me as I looked behind me at the closed stall
door and I could still see my cocklette jetting forth a white stream to
hammer into the red bullseye that he had drawn on the mirror.
Copyright 2012: Morgan Sights
Use by permission