Customer Service

I noticed a renewed gush of wet coating my cock when she began to writhe her hips in a circular motion, like working a hula hoop, but her whimpers were more difficult to mute, her easy, steady rhythm becoming as jerky and off-kilter as mine. Soon, I was plundering her silken slash unmercifully with a cock that I didn't think could get any harder or more raw with feeling and need.

"Augh," I gasped into her back, my sweaty forehead pressed into and sticking to her hair, as her simultaneous climax milked spurt after hot spurt from my twitching cock, her body gone rigid and quavering all over as she bucked her hips, grinding her sweet-spot against me from deep inside, everything each of us had poured into those spastic last moments of sweat and skin and the scent of sex.

The silence afterward was punctuated only with our soft breathing, the entrance of someone going to the end dressing room, fumbling around, and exiting. My cock was growing softer, shrinking, and she must have realized my leg was going to sleep because she reached down, gently held the condom ring around me, and slid herself off. Pushing the tangled mop of sweaty frizz back from her shiny, splotchy face, she grinned at me again. "Thanks- that was awesome," she added a gentle kiss to my slightly-agape mouth in an attempt to focus my expression, perhaps. I dumbly nodded in agreement, then shifted to reach for my clothes.

"Ow-" the sharp prick of an errant shirt-pin jabbed me in the ass, urging me to stand, and try to give her enoug space so that she could pull on her skirt and blouse. The bra and panties she tucked into my hand.

"A souvenir-" she teased. "Remember, for men's pants half-off, ask for 'sabel!" she laughed softly.

'Sabel. Sabel. That name... it suddenly sounded so familiar... CLICK!

"Hey- do you know a Cloris Jameson? Sorry, a little out of left field, I know, but..."

But she was already rolling her eyes. "Ugh, my grandma- she's *always* trying to set me up with this jerk-loser... whatsisname, Mike, Marvin, something... she thinks I'm too old to be single- I don't know who he is, but he's probably a j-"

"Marc?" I raised an eyebrow innocently. "Hermit-boy Marc? Mysteriously reclusive author and owner of the bookstore downtown? Never married, no kids, likes swing-dancing and jogs all the time while writing the worlds lamest unfinished novel??"

The sexy flush between her breasts and feathering across her cheeks disappeared as her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, then closed.

"Let me guess- you're Miss Isabel Jameson, David Jameson's only daughter, avid equestrian, a little fast, just needs a sweet boy to settle her down and take her to church, right?

Slowly, her face cracked into a dazzling smile as she extended her hand. "Pleased to have finally met you, lover-boy! Does this mean we can finally use that gift certificate for two I know Granny got you as thanks for walking her dog while she was in Florida at Ruth's Chris?"

I laughed, clasping her hand, then releasing it to pull on some of my clothes while she did the same. "I'd love to, but only for your birthday, which I know is coming up... but not the age, I'd never ask," I added hastily as she looked pained for a moment.

Fully clad, if a bit rumpled, I let her leave the dressing-room first, then text me when the coast was clear- hooray for technology. As I did, however, another salesman slipped up beside me. "Find everything okay, Sir?"

"Absolutely- best customer service of any store here," I assured him with a smile that was probably bigger than it should have been. He eyed me suspiciously, then breezed off to where that pretty little brunette was waiting behind the register, gazing secretively at me from over some paperwork.

"That guy there? I think he's gay- he just... grinned at me big..." the man said, leering suspiciously at me as I carelessly picked out a couple more ties, then headed toward the register with them.

"Probably- guy that old's single for a reason," she shrugged as I approached.

"Yeah, that, or maybe he's just waiting for the right girl?" I smiled innocently as no-nametag skittered off toward underwear.

"Better not be- no returns, refunds, or exchanges on the one you tried on!" She quipped, ringing me up, then bagging my purchases. I slipped my home and work phone numbers on a business card under the cash I handed over the counter to her. Smirking, she pocketed it.

"I don't buy junk, I prefer things that are meant to last- and of course, good customer service helps too," I returned before taking my bag and my change, then about-facing.

"You know, this Saturday at seven, I'm having a ladies' underwear liquidation, you should come again," I offered after a pause and a glance back.

Her snickering followed me out the amber-glass doors and into the steamy mid-August afternoon. Who'd ever have thought making fussy old church-ladies happy would have been so much fun? Well, I always did pride myself on making sure the customer always came first- with one obvious exception, of course.