Changing Room Ruse

Blonde Jenny's eyes darted up to mine. The look said something like "Okay, I'll try this. Tell me if I'm doing it right." By this point in the evening, we understood each other.

"Mm-hmm, like that," I said, when her fingers first touched, trying to show encouragement rather than pleasure. They (her fingers) had been there before tonight, but as protector; now they were being called upon to stimulate. "Then you can switch to something like a tickle ... yeah, something like that, so you're just barely touching." I let her try it for a few moments. "Then, increase the contact so you're gently fondling and caressing ..."

"Am I being gentle enough?" Jenny asked, concentrating on her task. She didn't look up this time.

"Perfect, I think," I replied. "Your boyfriend will really enjoy that." I gazed at the sight before me, and quietly reveled in the arousing sensations, enjoying it on his behalf. "You can also softly massage his balls ... either individually or together ... that you can feel inside his sack." These were his balls, of course, not mine. Again I paused while she transitioned to try that. "Just kind of, you know ... switch off between all those." It was hard not to physically react to all this (at least not physically react more than my reddened and throbbing erection was already doing), but I thought I was keeping everything under control. It wouldn't do to pump my jism all over Jen's face, as much as I enjoyed that mental image. That image did give me an idea, though.

"I realize you aren't going to do this now, but if you were ... you know, giving your boyfriend ... if you were using your mouth"—normally I could think of a more delicate way to say that, but quite of few of my neurons were preoccupied right now—"then the circular area you're rubbing with your thumb right now is the spot that should get the majority of the attention from your tongue ... whether it's with the tip of your tongue, or the back part of your tongue when ... when he's, um, you know ... inside."

Jenny's eyes met mine again. She continued the hands-on practice, but asked me, "So that's all I need to know about that spot?"

As I said, I wasn't doing my best thinking right now. This night had already far surpassed my fantasy, but you might know how tempting it is to get greedy when things are going your way. I decided to see if I could push my sexy blonde assistant a little further.

"Almost," I managed to say. It was a bit of a double entendre. "The last thing I want to point out is that your boyfriend—because guys are so visually oriented, um ... he will enjoy a sexual encounter with you much more if you let him know ... visually ... that you are enjoying it along with him. He needs to see that you are into it, too."

"Let's say," I continued, breaking out of my tutor character, "that the two of you are in about this same position—maybe he's standing and you're on your knees in front of him—and you've been giving him head and he's about to blow." Jen glanced up, noticing my cruder language, but I kept going, still savoring her circling thumb and tickling fingers. "To make it an experience to remember for him, when you sense that he's close, tilt your head way back so you're looking directly up at him with a lusty look, then open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out toward your chin. That way you can rub his 'sweet spot' on your tongue while you pump him with your hand. He can watch himself explode onto your tongue, which will really be an intense experience for him." [And maybe a little messy for you, Jen, since he just might overshoot and decorate your pretty face with his spunk.]

"Of course," I continued, "there are other times—like in a theater, for example—when you just have to ... well, when you just have to wrap your lips around and swallow so there's no mess you might have to explain."

Jen's eyes narrowed just a bit, giving her expression a "studying" look, as if she was thinking, "I wonder why he's telling me this." Her lips disclosed neither a smile nor a frown, and while her hands and fingers continued their respective activities, I think they were on autopilot, because all of her attention seemed to me to be focused on my eyes. There was just one other thing I wanted to add to her lesson.

"But if you're someplace you can be naked—or, say, just topless—when you're doing this to him," I added, still holding her eyes with mine, "he'll love it if you occasionally pull that other hand away—the one you've been using to play with his balls—and let him see those same fingers toy with your nipple ... or slip inside the top of your panties to stir what they find there."

Jen's lips parted and her eyes got wider. She let out a small gasp, as if someone had just woken her up from a trance. A moment later she looked down at her hands and gently pulled them away, spending a brief moment to contemplate the volatile male cock in front of her face. It was as if she suddenly realized this was well beyond the line she had established for herself but had somehow strayed beyond. She also might have been concerned that the intensity of my gaze into her eyes matched the intensity of the sensations I was feeling down below, which could mean that I—or 'it' ... the excited male organ that until seconds ago had been the beneficiary of her hands' ministrations—could be right on the 'edge' I had just spoken about.

That wasn't far from the truth. A slathering of Jen's tongue, or finding itself engulfed in any other warm, wet, and slippery environment would have thrown me over that edge in an instant. Fortunately I remained in control, despite how much I would have liked to lose it.

When Jen realized there would be no unintended eruption, I saw her exhale. "Wow!" she said softly, directing the simple comment to my cock. Then she looked back up at me. "So you think my boyfriend would really like that—like, the visual feedback and stuff?" She may have been a bit on sensory overload at the time, and the blush in her face betrayed that, but apparently she was listening.

"Mm-hmmm," I nodded. "I know he will."

Jennifer nodded in response and answered softly. "Okay." Her crooked smile returned as she backed away from the bench, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear on one side. "Thank you for showing me that."

"Oh, you're welcome," I responded. "Kindness deserves to be returned." Those five words sounded nice, sure. I hoped she wouldn't see through how ridiculous they were given my prurient motivations. The gentle smile I displayed (if she ignored the angry state of the genitalia below my waist) should help convince her of my sincerity. She did smile in return.

Jennifer stepped toward the doorway. "I'll be back in just a minute," she said. "I think I'd better go get one more pair to ..."—she made air quotes with her fingers—"... to try on." She tipped her head and eyes toward the front desk not far on the other side of the changing room wall. "We've been in here quite a while." She smiled sheepishly. My conspirator was covering for us.

I understood and smiled. "Good idea!"

I lifted one hand up against the wall to steady myself as I started to step down off the bench. Just after I started, though, I pulled my foot back up into place, and—as if a thought had just struck me—I asked, "Um ... do you think—?" Then I caught myself before I finished the question (or at least I hoped it appeared that way), thinking better of it. I exhaled and shrugged, then shook my head. "Oh, uh ... never mind!" I said, continuing to step down to the floor.

"What?" my Jen said, showing concern. "What were you going to ask?" It was the response I had hoped for. Women always want to know what you're thinking.

"Ah, nothing. It wasn't important," I said, not meeting her eyes. I reached for my coffee-drenched shirt that had been hanging on the hook for upwards of a half hour now, and pulled it down to feel for any remaining moisture.

Jenny hadn't moved, so I ventured a look at her face. When she saw she had my eyes, she gave me the face that women universally use to tell you that they know you're hiding something, and they're not buying your story. She was waiting for me to come clean.

I felt I needed to set the hook a little deeper if I had a chance of reeling in the fish. The risk is that the fish will break the line and swim away, but risks had been paying off tonight. Why not press my luck just a little bit further?

"Seriously," I said. "It was a dumb idea. Forget I said anything." I shook my head side to side much more than was really necessary to emphasize the point, trying to look just a little bit miserable.

My blonde rewarded me by lifting her chin and her eyebrows, then crossing her arms. She just told me, wordlessly: "Nice try, buster, but I'm not budging until you 'fess up."

Inside, I congratulated myself on my performance so far; but it wasn't over yet. Outwardly, I sighed. "Okay," I said, relenting. "You know how you were saying how ... how you want it to be good for your boyfriend?"

"Yeah?" she responded.

"Well, I want the same for my girlfriend ... and I don't have all that much experience with ... you know, all that stuff. I know my own body pretty well, but I don't ... I don't know a woman's. See, I was just thinking, since you took the opportunity to learn something to help you, that maybe I ... well, you could show me the sensitive spot—or maybe spots, I don't know—that could help me make it better for my girlfriend when ... when she and I, uh, ... make love." The 'make love' part was on purpose. I figured Jen might appreciate the importance and sincerity of my request if she knew I was emotionally and lovingly committed to my girl. It was for the purpose of making love, not making whoopee.

Jen's face fell. "Oh," she said simply, and bit her lip. Her expression showed she comprehended. I had just finished providing her an up-close-and-personal tutorial, and now I was politely suggesting that reciprocation would be appreciated. No one had punched her in the gut, but she had that look.

Her eyes fell to the floor for a moment, then came back up to mine. When they did, she was playing with her hands nervously and shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically, "but ... but I just don't think I can do that. It just wouldn't be ... um, appropriate, you know?"

Hey, I had tried and I had failed on this one last point. I was clearly way over the line. No sweat. I'd be going home very pleased with the night's effort anyway, and with plenty of fantasy fuel for multiple jerk-off sessions.

"You're sweet, Jennifer," I said, to show I wasn't upset. "That's okay." (Yes, there was disappointment in my voice, but that's all it was.) "You've already been very kind and helpful, and I really appreciate that." It was a sincere statement.

Jennifer smiled nervously and hurried out the door. Based on the abruptness of her exit, I didn't know if I'd see her again. It could be she'd take the opportunity to retreat to the back of the store or somewhere out of sight and simply wait for me to make my purchases and leave. I waited for a minute or so, then decided it might be wise to get dressed and get out of here. I managed to get my sweatpants back on (despite my lack of practice trying to do it myself, they went on without too much trouble) and was about to tackle my somewhat damp sweatshirt when I heard voices approaching.

"... color in his size, and he needs them for a wedding this weekend."

"But what is taking so long? Everything's okay, right?" That was someone else's voice, I'm not sure whose. As they got closer I could hear better as Jen answered.

"Oh, yeah, there's no problem, except that's he's very particular about the color. He wants it to be just right. I figured since we didn't have any other customers anyway, I could spend the time to help him."

The other co-worker said something I didn't hear, but I heard Jen's answer: "Oh, don't be silly!" She laughed lightheartedly just outside my door. "We're almost finished. Just this one last style to try. I'll be out shortly."

The door opened and in came my Jennifer, wearing that easy, friendly smile that had characterized her for most of our time together in this room. I was glad to see it back, given her clear anxiety when I saw her last. As I stood before her in my sweatpants and holding my shirt, I realized she was seeing me covered for the first time in quite a while.

"Sorry!" she whispered, then tipped her head toward the door she had just closed. "The natives are restless." She held up the pants in her hand—which we both knew were simply a prop—and giggled. "Do you like this color?"

I chuckled quietly with her, playing along. "Very nice!"

Jen assumed I was talking about the pants. I was actually talking about her. This blonde in the little black dress was definitely easy on the eyes, and ever more so in light of our intimate interaction. I allowed my gaze to linger while I etched her image into my memory banks.

"Um ...," Jen said, hesitating for just a split second, "about what you asked earlier?"

I shook my head. "I'm so sorry, Jennifer. I hope I didn't offend you." Yes, I was disappointed, but I didn't need her reporting me to mall security as a predator or something. Even though such a label was probably accurate.

"Oh, no, it's not that!" Jennifer rushed to say. "I was thinking about it, and ... you are such a nice guy and did help me, too ... that it seems fair and reasonable for me to return the favor."

I looked at her blankly, afraid to breathe in case that I might have heard her wrong, or that by breathing I would make her change her mind. Was my night about to get even better?

"If," she started, emphasizing the word, "you know, uh ... we can make this fairly quick, and if we can agree that nobody else will ever know about this but us ...." She paused, looking at me like what she said last had been a question. Though I was fighting off another fist-pumping episode, I understood and pressed two fingers against my closed lips to indicate they were sealed.

Jen nodded in acknowledgment and went on, "...then I think I can help you ... like ... um, well, you know ... help you please your girlfriend. Okay?"

She stopped and waited for my assent to her "conditions." Like there was any chance of me not agreeing. Besides, guys know when girls set verbal limits that those limits can often be renegotiated on the fly.

"Jennifer, you're the best!" I responded. "I don't know what to say! I truly appreciate this. If you could just, you know, show me a couple of things I've been wondering about, that would be great!"

Jen tipped her head and eyes toward the front desk again. "I could get in serious trouble for this, if you know what I mean, so we can't take too long."

I nodded in understanding. I also noted that the conditions had already been relaxed from "quick" to "not too long." I liked the precedent.

"Okay ..." Jennifer said, now glancing around looking for a suitable location. She was nervous, but resolute. She stepped in front of the bench and looked down at it for a couple of seconds, then turned to me. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm not, like, going to try to get up on that thing!" she said.

I smiled, still holding my shirt like I was when she came in. "Hey, I can understand that," I said with a chuckle. "You're fine where you are."

My Jen nodded nervously again, but she didn't want to waste time now. She took a deep breath and let it out as she moved both hands down to her dress's hemline. She glanced up at me, then back down as she leaned forward and fished her hands under her dress. Seconds later I saw the panties I had glimpsed earlier ... except this time they were around her ankles. Wow. Now I was the one taking a deep breath and letting it out. Jenny reached out to hold my arm for balance while she carefully extracted one of her high heels. She left her lace-edged, black satin panties hanging loosely from the other shoe. They were not a thong, but a high French cut ... and very small [not that I would normally notice a detail like that].

I was proud of myself for forming a thought. Jen was blushing and looked hesitant about taking the next step, so I decided it would be good to lighten things up. "So, I guess I'm not the only one going commando now, huh?" I looked at her face and gave her a mischievous smile.

I was delighted when my pantiless Jen giggled in response. "Yeah, I guess that's right!" The best part was when she added, "And we're not even in a movie theater!"

I laughed at that. I had a feeling Jenny's beau was going to be a happy man. Right now I was a pretty happy man, too.

Jenny reached down and gathered the bottom of her dress into her hands and slowly started to pull upward, revealing even more of her beautiful thighs. "Ready?" she asked, looking up at me. Then she quit lifting and looked concerned. For one heart-rending moment I thought she might chicken out ... but no, she was concerned about my view. "Are you going to be able to ... you know, be able to see?"

"Oh!" I responded. I was so preoccupied with her rising skirt and anticipating what would inevitably be revealed, that I was still riveted to the same spot on the floor, shirt in hand. I chuckled at myself and tossed my shirt on the bench. "Um, here ..." I said, kneeling down in front of her, but looking up at her face. "Now I will be ... uh, if ... if you don't leave your feet together as close as they are ...." I nodded down at the shoes that so nicely enhanced Jen's nearly naked legs.

Jen giggled nervously. "Oh, yeah ... duh!" she said. She moved one foot about eight inches away from the other one. A good start anyway, I thought. "Better?" she asked.

Hey, I was agreeable right now. I trailed my eyes downward over the long legs in front of me, grateful for the excuse. I looked back up and shrugged. "I think so. We can always adjust if we need to."

I lowered my eyes away from hers and looked back at what had held my attention so effectively before ... only now I was considerably closer and had traded my downward viewing angle for one that was—thanks to her high heels—about even with the main attraction. Her dress was pulled almost up to that tantalizing junction of her inner thighs. I waited for the unveiling.

I heard Jennie take in a shaky breath and let it out, and then she resumed pulling upward on her dress, not stopping until the hem was bunched up just above her belly button, where she held it in place by pressing one hand against it. There before me was the definitive proof of her womanhood. In my young life I haven't seen a lot of pussies close up yet—at least not in real life from a foot away—but this one was a lovely specimen: smooth, hairless outer lips, with a thin set of inner labia peeking out from between. She was a natural blond, with just a few wispy, loose curls adorning her mound.

I remembered to breathe now. I smiled and looked up at my blonde vixen, who was still blushing and biting her lower lip. "Before we start, Jennifer, I hope you won't be offended if I tell you that you're, um ... really beautiful down here."

The nervous giggle came out first, but then she displayed her crooked smile while lifting her free hand to tuck her blonde tresses behind her ear on that side. "Well, you're a guy," she said, "and I guess I'd expect a guy to say that."

I defended my comment. "Hey, I have good taste in dress pants, and I have good taste in ... in these, too!" I said with a smile, looking down at her lovely pussy. And I'm sure it tastes good, I thought to myself. I decided right then I would be sure to find out.

When I forced myself to look back up at her face, she was blushing more, so I think she appreciated the compliment. [Either that or she had just read my thoughts.]