Changing Room Ruse

"I really like your tat!" I said. Just an inch or so to one side of her lips and up about even with her blonde curls she had a small, multi-colored butterfly tattoo, only about twice as big as my thumbnail. Located where it was, it would be covered by all but the most diminutive bikini. I was jealous of the lucky tattoo artist who got to put it there.

Jen responded with a sheepish "Thank you." She then went on. "You do realize you're now one of only three people who have ever seen that! Not even my mother knows about it—which is why it's where it is. She, like, didn't want me getting a tattoo at all."

I nodded, listening, but also contemplating my next move. I had an idea about how to usurp control of this anatomy lesson before it officially began, and promote myself to teacher instead of student.

"Well, I know we don't have much time, so there are just a couple of things I was wondering about, and that I'd like your feedback on." Before she had time to process what I said, I leaned down to her ankle—the one closest to the bench—and held it gently between my overgrown mits. Then I looked up at her with my polite request: "May I?"

She apparently thought what I wanted her to think—that I was going to move that foot a little closer to the bench, which would spread her legs just a little further apart. The bench was just a few more inches away anyway, so what could it hurt?

"Okay ... sure," Jennifer replied, granting me permission, and shifting her weight to the other leg so I could slide the foot I was holding. Silly me, I thought she said it was okay for me to conduct a taste test.

Instead of sliding her foot toward the bench, I raised it straight up and placed it on the bench. [The panties that had been loosely hanging there fell to the floor en route. I made a mental note of that. They would make a great souvenir of this night.] Jenny's new position afforded me a breathtaking view—thanks to the lighting and the mirror behind her—of her lovely pink gash ... as well as unfettered access.

Jenny reacted to the unexpected shift by raising her free hand to the nearby wall and bracing herself. She reacted verbally almost simultaneously. "Oh!" she exclaimed, startled. She followed that up with her nervous giggle—probably the most nervous one yet. "I guess, like, now you will for sure be able to see."

"Jennifer," I started, tearing my eyes away to catch hers for a moment, "I know that not all women react the same way or like the same things, but as I just said, I'm asking for your feedback on a couple of things ... your opinion, really, is what I want." My eyes had drifted back down to the enticing prize in front of me, so once again I raised them back to her face. "I think you'll be honest with me. You're that kind of person, and that means a lot to me." [No doubt you recognize that for the pure schlock that it is. But I was falling back on techniques that had worked for me with women in the past. Admittedly I had never used them under these exact circumstances.]

My Jen look confused. "Feedback?"

"Yeah," I confirmed. "For example, I've read that if I do this ..."

In one fluid motion I lowered my shoulder underneath her raised thigh, then lifted it up so her foot no longer rested on the bench. My big mits reached between her legs and found accommodating hand holds on her ass cheeks, pulling her pelvis toward my face; Jen's natural reaction to this was to slump back against the mirror (just a few inches behind her) to keep her balance. While I usually like to engage in a little teasing with my tongue before zeroing in on the primary destination, this situation plainly required a more direct approach. I dragged my tongue up the last few inches of her inner thigh [the skin there is often the softest and smoothest to be found on a woman's body, and I can never resist it] before it arrived within her parted pink folds.

"Hey!" Jen gasped, "what are—," she started to protest, then caught herself when she realized she had said it much too loudly. "What are you doing?!?" she repeated in a loud whisper, but with equivalent urgency. "I didn't realize you were going to—mmm, please—you need to ... um, I ... I didn't know that's what you meant—ooh."

While my Jen continued her quiet protests, my tongue had already begun its explorations in and around her pussy, flicking, lapping, fluttering. I was pleased to detect the feminine moisture already present within her lips; apparently our earlier foreplay had an impact. I knew that with all her weight on one leg, combined with my firm hold on her pretty posterior, Jenny wouldn't be able to squirm away, and the head and shoulders (mine!) between her legs prevented any attempt on her part to pull her legs together. Her hand came down and pressed on the top of my head, trying but failing to push the invasive tongue away. To borrow the cliché, she was at my mercy. I ignored her and continued my tongue's stirring.

"I thought you ... you just wanted my opin—m-my feedba-a-ack! Oh, shit!" Jenny sucked in her breath through her teeth as I planted a wet French kiss on her clit, interrupting her attempt to remind me of the terms of our arrangement. I was elated with her sensitivity down there, because already her words were interspersed with little breathy gasps. "I didn't ... th-think [flick, flick—gasp] ... you were going to ... [lick, flutter] mmm [gasp] ... to d-d-do thisss," she managed to say ... well, kind of say. I noticed she stopped trying to twist away, realizing it was futile. My goal was to convince her that she didn't want to ... but we weren't quite there yet.

"S-s-seriously, like, you nnneed to ... [flick-a-flick] mmmmm, y-you should st—[lick, stir]—Ooh-mmmm! Shit!"

I was making progress, I could tell. The petals of her feminine flower—already spread, thanks to the leg she had draped over my shoulder—were starting to bloom and release more of their nectar. While the fingers of Jen's hand were wrapped in my hair, she wasn't pushing down anymore. Her will to resist was dissipating.

Meanwhile, my tongue's stirring between my blonde Jennifer's spread legs was causing a stirring of a different type between mine. My cock had been diligently at attention for so long earlier that it had taken advantage of the chance to relax when I finally put on my sweatpants. Now, though, with this latest activity it was again ready and eager to be called back into active duty. [Imagine that. Jen's helmeted space ranger had stepped forward, volunteering to probe her slippery depths. As appealing as that sounded, that was crossing a boundary even I was unwilling to breach ... for purposes of this hand-wrapping scheme anyway.]

I noticed Jen wasn't protesting as much anymore, so I ventured a glance upward. She had her eyes clamped shut and was biting down on her lower lip. Maybe she had gotten the message that I wasn't paying attention to her remonstrations, or perhaps she was willing her body not to respond to my oral stimulation. Her body was clearly betraying her.

I decided to reinstate our agreement ... at least my modified version of it. "Forgive me, Jennifer," I said, glancing up again. Her eyes popped open and she looked down at me, surprised to hear me say something. What she saw was my tongue extended and poised at the top of her gaping slit. Flick, flick, flutter. "I should have explained what I was doing right then." I guess I just got"—lick, lick—"carried away because"—stir, flick—"your pussy was too beautiful"—flutter, flick-a-flick—"for me to resist," I said, holding her eyes at least part of the time. She was still biting her lower lip, and her face had that pleading look that isn't really pain, but more concentration on blocking out an unbidden sensation.

"See, I've heard" I continued, leaning forward and speaking directly to Jen's primed pussy, "that when a guy is giving oral to his woman, he should spell the alphabet with his tongue. That's what I was doing. I guess that way he hits a variety of spots because of the different letter shapes." [Yes, it was the alphabet. I think maybe it was Arabic.]

"A-Alphabet?" Jen said. She didn't seem to be thinking all that clearly.

"Yeah. Here is a capital A, for example." I extended my tongue and slowly drew the left leg of the A, starting down low, just outside of her labia on one side, to the peak at the top of her slit (conveniently coinciding with where her clit was peeking out), and back down the other side. Then I picked up my tongue and repositioned it, dragging it horizontally across the middle of her lips to complete the letter.

"The thing is," I said, "I never understood if they meant big, exaggerated letters ... you know, like a big A"—I drew the same letter again, just faster, and this time I heard Jen rapidly pull in her breath—"or if they meant a smaller one"—I wrote a smaller version, all within the confines of her inner lips, so the peak of the A was still touching her clit, but the approach was from underneath. Jen jerked slightly and did one of her gaspy breaths on that one. I must have hit a sensitive spot.

"For that matter," I continued, "maybe lower-case letters are more effective." I demonstrated the first letter of the alphabet in its lower-case form, starting on the lower part of Jen's pubic mound, about even with the butterfly, then looping down and around to circle that sensitive spot that made her flinch before. This time she pulled in a quick breath through clenched teeth.

Jen, whose eyes were open when I looked up again, attempted to respond. I think she may have thought if she gave me her feedback that she could curtail further demonstrations. "O-Okay ... those were all nice, b-but the [gasp] one that ... that felt, ooh, that felt bes-s-s-s—oh, shit!"

As my Jen was speaking, the unwrapped fingertips on my right hand had grown tired of remaining still, and they began exploratory operations in the valley of her backside ... a slow, gentle tickling up and down her ass crack. I think that just might have been the reason that she seemed to be having trouble speaking clearly, and even hissed and closed her eyes at the end. It could also have been that my tongue continued the alphabet.

"And here is a B ...," I said, writing that letter and its variations on the lubricated notepad before me. That's when I glanced up to see that again Jen had her eyes clamped shut and her lower lip entrapped between her teeth.

I decided to speed up the input a bit. "C," I said, then leaned in to write it. I didn't want to cut corners and leave out the smaller versions of each letter though ... so I didn't. And because I could tell that my wandering fingers augmented the experience for her, as I proceeded with the rest of our alphabetic examples, I slowly and continuously made round trips through that valley passage—from the small of her back, then down under to where her lower lips began, sometimes on the sides of the valley, sometimes descending to the valley floor.

"D." You know the routine. Some of my letters had a few extra shakes and wiggles. Hopefully I wouldn't be graded on penmanship.

"You-you're not g-going to go through, mmm, the whole ... the whole a-alphabet, are y-you?" Jen managed to ask.

"E." I finished the expansive uppercase version and paused. "Oh, no, no," I answered in a reassuring tone, "only enough to, you know, allow you to evaluate sufficiently."

It was shortly after that point that Jen's tone shifted just a bit. Between the little gasps and whimpers, there were some low moans and "mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm" sounds interspersed. Her pelvis was rocking perceptibly. When I gave my tongue a short break and looked up, her eyes were still closed, but she wasn't biting her lower lip anymore ... her mouth was open and she was breathing heavily and deeply through it. I watched her lovely chest rise and fall much like a runner's might after a few minutes on the track. That brought a smile to my face, though she didn't see it.

It was somewhere around F or G that I removed my non-exploring hand from Jenny's ass cheek for a minute to reach down and feel around on the floor for her discarded, but not forgotten panties (at least not forgotten by me). I managed to stuff them into my pocket without her noticing.

"H," I continued. Her juices were flowing freely now, and her moans becoming less restrained. I even heard a quiet but fervent "Yes!" on the previous letter. Jen liked G.

I paused to give my busy tongue a break again. "You know, Jennifer," I said, again addressing the part of her body that was in front of my nose, "not only is your pussy beautiful, but it tastes as good as it looks!" To emphasize the point, I leaned back in and licked the soft skin high up on the inside of her thighs that I love some much, then delivered a gentle but extended French kiss to her clit. I took the moan I heard above me as acknowledgment of my sincere compliment. As an afterthought I kissed her butterfly so it wouldn't feel left out.

"I think, though," I continued, "that we probably should make the next letter our last, okay?"

I used "we" and "our" for a reason. Even though I had taken over and pretty much had my way with her the last several stimulating minutes—and I had a wet face to show for it—I was subtly reminding Jennifer that she was a willing participant in all that had occurred within this changing room tonight. I wasn't molesting her; we were, you know, just being kind and helpful to each other. Right.

My Jenny didn't answer, but just nodded.

"Last, but not least, then, is the letter I," I announced. It's a simple letter, but I tried to make it count. [Jen probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between an I and a Z at this point, but of course I'm not the type to try pull a fast one on somebody like that ... so I stuck with that letter.] Usually it is written top to bottom, but I did the opposite: starting as low between my Jen's legs as I could reach—with my writing instrument centered right in the middle—I drew a straight line up to the very top of her slit and onto her mound. It was a bit slow going in the middle, because I pushed my tongue in as deep as I could between her inner labia. Ultimately I dotted the I right on her clit. Jen's reaction was wordless but expressive: a low moan, a flinch, and a breathy gasp.

"I think that's enough for you to be able to compare," I said, looking up at Jenny. "So give me your opinion about that alphabet technique, as compared to this one."

What I did then wasn't elaborate because my hands weren't as useful as they might normally have been, but Jenny was basically in the perfect position. I did three things. The fingertips that had been wandering her ass crack dipped briefly into her gaping gash to borrow some of the plentiful, slippery lubricant found there, then started a one-finger rim job around her asshole—not penetrating, but circling. My lips and tongue began a stirring French kiss on her sensitive clit, flicking, nibbling, sucking. Finally, I took the unwrapped thumb on my other hand and pushed—without resistance—up inside her slippery tunnel and began a rapid, twisting, thumb-fuck.

At first, all I heard above me was a sharp intake of air, followed by a whimper. Within a few seconds, her body stiffened, and my leggy, now-very-squishy blonde found her voice. "Uh, uh, ooh, oh shh-iii-t! ... ahhh"—she reached down and grabbed my hair again, but this time not to try to push me away ... instead she pulled my head more tightly in between her legs—"Oh shit! Oh yessss! ... I mean [gasp], ahh! No! Oh! ... oh! ... If-if you k-keep [gasp], oh shhh-it... if you keep go...going, I'm gonna—Oh shit! Oh shit!! Oh shit!!!" Despite the restrictions on her movement because of her position, Jen was bucking her hips, and I felt the leg over my shoulder begin to tremble. She was heading toward a precipice, and I was going to have the privilege of pushing her over it.

At that moment there was a loud knock on the door. "Jenny! Jenny? Is everything all right in there?"

That interruption stopped both of us cold. Obviously in the heat of the moment she had forgotten about being quiet. She looked at me wide-eyed and in panic as I quickly pulled my soaked face and thumb from her crotch and backed away so she could return both feet to the floor. Her skirt fell part way back down her thighs, and she rushed to tug it the rest of the way back into place.

"Jenny?" The voice came from outside the door again.

"Uh, y-yeah! Yes, I'm fine," Jenny responded, her voice shaky but believable ... maybe. "Um, I ..."—she paused and looked down at me with a classic 'what do I say now?' panicked expression, then ad libbed without help from me—"... I'm upset because ... because I picked up the wrong size, and can't believe I did it again! Shit!" It was actually pretty good under the circumstances. I guess everyone can be a good liar on short notice when they need to be. "I'll ... I'll be right out, Maggie!" she said, now with a little bit stronger voice.

There was no answer, so neither of us knew if Maggie bought her hastily improvised story. At least she didn't take it upon herself to barge in. That would have been awkward.

Jenny's eyes darted around the changing room. "Where are my panties?" she quasi-whispered, quasi-mouthed.

I pretended to look, scanning the room like she had just done. "I'll find them," I whispered back, helpfully. "Right now, you'd better go!"

Jen gave me a look like I had just asked her to eat worms. I guess going without panties wasn't high on her list. Maybe it was because she knew she was especially wet down there right now. Oh, well, give her time. She can learn to like it.

"Go!" I whispered again, gesturing silently toward the door to remind her that her co-worker was waiting for her to come out.

She gritted her teeth and nodded, then reached for the doorknob.

"Psssst." That was me, getting her attention. I retrieved a folded pair of pants from the bench and handed them to her. "I think you want to take these back and exchange them?" I whispered.

She nodded a thank you, realizing I had just helped her establish her alibi. She did the hair-behind-the-ear-tuck thing, and out the door she went.

Had I really been helpful, I might have warned Jennifer about her appearance before she faced her co-worker. True, she was fully dressed ... well, almost. But the most notable eye catcher was the rosiness of her face—and the blotchy pink flush that extended down her neck and onto her chest. [Some might be tempted to call it the "just fucked" look. In actuality it was the "just denied a big orgasm" look. They look similar, but the latter is characterized by the lack of a smile, no gleam in the eye, and no bounce in the step.] Maybe it wouldn't be unusual for someone who just ran a mile to look like she did right then, especially someone with the light complexion of a natural blond, but it looks just a tad suspicious when a woman emerges from a fitting room looking like that. Especially when the person checking on your welfare knows you've been sharing it for an extended period with a man. I listened with interest to the conversation on the other side of the door.

Maggie: Jenny, sorry for knocking but—oh, my God, Jenny! What is— [lowering her voice] what is going on in there? You look like—

Jenny: What do you mean? I'm ... I'm fine! I'm frustrated for picking up the wrong size is all.

Maggie: But you look like ... like ... well, there's not anything, you know, inappropriate going on in there, is there?

Jennie: What?! No-o-o, of course not! If there is anything inappropriate, it's me using bad language in front of a customer. But he understood and wasn't upset. And, um, what do you mean ... what do I look like?

Maggie: You're all red in the face and you look like you've just been ... well, I don't want to say what it looks like.