Indiscretion

"Nineteen," he replies rather defensively. Which is kinda cute, the first time away from home, I feel a little mumsy at that.

"Take off your coat, it's not like you could try anything on wearing it, can you?" He gave a self-deprecating grin as he realises he should have thought of that.

As he slips off the coat, I realise most of the bulk is made up from the coat, as he's slim, edging towards skinny.

Suddenly, I get some decidedly non-mumsy thoughts. Something about the way he's done exactly what I'd told him sends a frisson of excitement through me. This might be a better target for my fantasy. If he's nervous around women, he might welcome someone to take charge. Someone to take them under their wing, and teach him a thing or three about the female sex.

Yes, I think this 'Student' falls into that theme better than 'Helpful' would. If I flirted or teased him a little, I could build that into the fantasy. Just to make it more realistic. I'm sure his apparent lack of experience would mean he wouldn't know how to react, letting me control the encounter.

And what's he going to do? Complain to the manager? There was only me here, and it wasn't like I worked here. In fact, even if he did complain, nobody knows my full name or where I lived. If he went as far as taking it to the police, they'd probably laugh in his face. I might not be a nubile young thing, but I had a good figure, and my boobs were still full and firm.

After all, if I could get him blushing from just mentioning he fancied a girl, what would he do if I showed a little cleavage?

"Just a second!" I hurried back to the counter to grab the tape measure I'd noticed next to the till. Glancing back, all I can see is his head over the top of the clothes rails, that's good it gives us some privacy for my next idea. Which, I'm not sure is a good idea, but at this point, I don't care.

Locking the front door again, before heading back to the student. A little shiver flutters down my spine at the thought of what I'm up to. I'm locked in this store with a young man I've never seen before, and one I would never see again!

Ducking into a parallel aisle, I pause at a full-length mirror to check out what I'm wearing. There's not much I can do about the jeans and training shoes. However, on top, I've got a thin 'V' necked sweater over a plain blouse, which provides a few options.

As a young woman, I got such a buzz from dressing provocatively. Wearing a short skirt and pretending not to notice if it flounced up if I turned around suddenly, or 'accidentally' got flipped up in the wind. I'd wear low cut tops, lean in close to a man, looking like I was listening intently to what he was saying. In reality, I was just waiting for his will to break and watch his eyes drop to take in my boobs.

Reaching under the sweater, I undo the top two buttons. Then rearrange the blouse underneath to expose a little more cleavage. I was starting to get the same feeling as when I'd done this as a girl. Seeing the sweater still covered more I had shown in my youth, a sudden boldness hits me, and I undo the next button down.

As I move away from the mirror, a twinge of doubt pops into my head. As a girl, when I had less to work with, I'd become an expert on knowing just how much to show. Now I was out of practice and I wasn't sure how my old tricks would work with larger breasts. For an instant, I worry I've gone too far, but part of me says screw it!

Cutting back into his aisle, to see he's trying on some shiny black dress shoes.

"Arms up please." He looks up and obediently lifts his arms above his head. Why is it I get such a kick out of that? Him doing exactly what I say. I wonder if I could get him to hop on one foot?

Stepping closer, to wrap my arms around him, my eye line is level with his chin. Looking up, I see he's literally frozen in place looking at me; then his eyes dip just for an instant. It seems to be instinctual or automatic for a male to peek at a woman's boobs when they get the chance.

"42-inch chest, can you remember that?" He nods, as I lower the tape measure towards his waist.

A man's waistline is lower than a woman's, so I take a little step back and deliberately bend forward. Taking my time to get the measurement.

"30 to 31." I look up quickly to see his eyes are locked on my cleavage. Not even noticing, I'm looking up at him.

That's one hurdle crossed. He's not looking away in disgust, or insisting I cover up as I'm a sick old woman.

"Did you get that?" I ask, and he looks away and starts blushing.

"Sorry, I was..."

"Caught looking at my boobs?"

"I'm really sorry..."

"Why, half the world's population has them. It's instinctual that you'd look, and if I minded, I'd cover up more. In fact, is it warm in here, or is it just me?"

Holding the tape in one hand, flapping the other in front of my face, as if I was warm. I am certainly warm, but not in the face.

"Take this," I instruct him, holding out the tape, then turn sideways and grip the hem of my sweater and whip it off.

Turning back, I dropped to my knees and held my hand out for the tape measure. I thought it was only cartoons and bad comedies that had characters gaping open-mouthed. Looking down, perhaps I'd gone further than I'd intended.

The inner curve of my breasts are visible, along with a good inch of each bra cup, the highest button fastened is just below my bra strap, that's more than I'd ever deliberately done even as a young woman. It sent a wave of naughty pleasure through me, especially because of his reaction.

Grabbing the tape from him breaks the spell, and he looks away trying to pretend I'd not just caught him gawking.

Reaching around him again, hardly bothering to hide I was feeling his bum, and wrapping the tape around him. Bringing the ends to the front, over his crotch to take the measurement.

"Erm. Guys don't use hip measurements." He stutters out.

Looking up, to notice his nervousness has spiked and looking back at his crotch, I see why. There is definitely a semi going on in there; I wonder if we can get an improvement on that.

Time for the next step.

"OK, true, but we do need to measure your inseam. Move your feet apart."

"Do you have to?"

"Who's the expert here? Just keep doing what I say, and we'll soon see you leaving here completely satisfied." I was rather proud of that slight innuendo.

As I press the end of the tape to his inseam, I realise I've just blown past a major boundary. Until now, I could claim nothing was going on, other than some rather friendly customer service, and some misunderstanding.

This had started out as a way of creating some fuel for my fantasy. Flash him a little cleavage, flirt and tease him a little, just to add depth and realism to my imagination. I'd missed that margin by a mile when I'd unbuttoned my blouse to below my bra strap.

Now with my hand between his thighs and thumb in contact with his privates. I've stepped through the looking glass from fantasy to reality. Only two pieces of cloth and a thin layer of nail polish are between his warm testicles and my thumb.

I know I should stop, should pretend everything is normal and get him his suit. Then get him out of here as quickly as possible. Then I'd have enough time to play with myself in the toilets before the removal men arrive.

Instead, I'm frozen in place looking at the bulge in his jeans only inches above my hand. It's like a lodestone, drawing my attention to it. I want to reach out and touch it, take it out, then kiss and make use of it.

However, if I did that, I know it would break the spell, and he'd bolt for the door. I need to figure out a way to take this further, but my brain is failing me. Either the sight of his erection or the weight of his balls on the tip of my thumb seemed to be robbing me of my ability to think clearly.

I'm also hampered by the fact I've always been rather passive about initiating anything sexual. Relying on my partners to pick on my subtle hints that I might be acquiescent to something intimate. But then following their lead with enthusiasm when they do.

This was different, taking charge for once was almost intoxicating, and a little scary. How far would I go, and how far did I want this to go? However, despite the fear of the unknown, I doubt if I could stop this just yet.

He cleared his throat, and I realise I'd been so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I'd forgotten about the measurement. Standing quickly, to grab the first dinner jacket I saw, handing it to him. I knew I was flushed but watched as he slipped it on, then commented.

"Not too bad. A little short in the sleeves, but a dress shirt and cufflinks would disguise that a bit, turn around. It's a little broad across the shoulders..."

"And the belly." He replied, turning to show the buttoned jacket was almost capacious enough to fit another person in.

"Ok, jacket off and try on the trousers." He hands the jacket, and I give him the trousers.

"Where?" He asks, and I point to a curtained off alcove a few yards away.

"How do you turn the light on?" He asks, and I think to myself 'how would I know, I don't actually work here'.

"It should be on already. Perhaps the bulb is gone. So you can either change your trousers in the dark or do it out here. I promise I won't look." Putting one hand over my face, but splaying my fingers wide, so one eye is entirely uncovered. Adding a grin to show I'm joking, if at least partially.

A minute or so later, he calls from behind the curtain.

"We have a problem, the trousers are far too big."

"Come out so I can see."

With one hand he pushes the curtain aside, but the other is gripping the waistband of the trousers tightly as if he's expecting them to fall down to his ankles.

"How bad is it? Could we use a belt?"

"There are no loops for a belt."

"How about braces?" [Suspenders for our American friends]

"I'd look like a clown in hoop trousers. See..." He pulls the waistband forward, showing the trousers are at least four of five inches too large.

"Move over here into the light." As he does so, I move closer and reach out to take the waistband of the trousers.

Under the guise of inspecting the trousers, I can easily see down the front to the white 'Y' fronts he's wearing. The bulge from earlier has somewhat diminished. Glancing up, I see his eyes are glued to my boobs again.

"We could use some safety pins to add pleats to the waistband, along with the braces that might work."

Looking towards the till I was sure I'd seen a large sewing box behind the counter. Accidentally on purpose, I let go of his trousers. He lets out an 'epp' of alarm, and I turn back just in time to see him catch them. However, they had fallen to mid-thigh, exposing his 'Y' fronts to me entirely.

"Sorry." But I don't really mean it. I head towards the sewing box, mostly to hide the massive grin plastered uncontrollable over my face.

When I return, he's holding the waistband in both hands as if his life depends on it.

"Actually, I think they might be too short. Why don't you just take them off and we'll try another pair."

He starts to turn away, to return to the dressing cubicle.

"Where are you going? I've already seen you in your underpants, and it's not like I haven't seen men like that hundreds of times. I'm sure you've been on a beach or swimming pool in swimming trunks more revealing, and hundreds of people saw you. It's just the two of us here. You act like you've never undressed in front of a woman?"

His expression and blush give him away.

"Oh, god! Sorry, you're a virgin. Fuck, I mean, that's OK. Of course, it is."

"Not if you're 19, and a guy."

I could launch into a speech about how we're all virgins once, and it's not how old you are, and so on. Instead, I change tactics.

"OK, let's look at it this way, you hinted there was a girl you liked. What would you do if you hooked up, would you ask her to close her eyes as you undressed? Insist you'd only do it in the dark?" I suspect he's not seriously thought it through that far.

"Let me give you some advice. Women like a guy with confidence. We're prepared to overlook some of the stupid things you do to impress us. If you can stand here and now in front of me, someone you aren't trying to impress. You can do it with more confidence in front of someone you are in the future. Besides, it doesn't look like you have anything in there to be insecure about."

Long seconds tick by, and I'm fairly sure he's not going for it. He'll scurry off like a frightened mouse back to the cubicle, get dressed, and make a break for it. Instead, he stands there deep in thought. Weighing up what I'd said, and eventually with a long sigh, took off the trousers.

He's looking anywhere but at me, his hands hovering near his crotch, trying to cover up without being too obvious. So I try to be business-like, take the trousers and turn my back to him. Putting them and the jacket back on their hanger, then hand him the jacket from the next suit, letting him get used to being trouserless.

This jacket is a little tight, better in the sleeves, but he can barely fasten it. Getting him to turn his back, as I see his bum in the white 'Y' fronts, I want to bend down and bite it.

"Face me, and hands at your sides. Otherwise, it doesn't hang properly." I ordered, and he reluctantly complies, showing why he was reluctant.

The slight bulge in his pants has grown to a nearly full erection.

"Sorry." He mumbles as he spots me looking at it.

"Why? Men get them all of the time. Is that because you've seen a little of my cleavage?" More than a little cleavage, I have to admit to myself. He refuses to look at me, but nods.

"I'm flattered, but it is an issue." He looks up worried like I'm going to call the cops on him. When it is really the other way around.

"How do you mean?" He asks.

"If you get an erection from looking at me, and my old and unattractive tits..."

"You're not old, or unattractive." He blurts out, then looks down at the floor. "And you have very nice breasts." He adds, missing my smile at his compliment.

"Still, if I do this to you, how are you going to cope if the girl you're interested in is wearing something revealing? Don't be fooled into thinking a woman doesn't know when you are checking her out. When we dress up to reveal we expect to be looked at, hell we want it, but it has to be discreet. A glance only, and look away. It's difficult to be discreet if you're sporting one of those." I pointed towards his crotch.

"I'm sorry!" He responds wretchedly.

"Let's try to ignore it and move on. Give me the jacket." He shrugs out of it quickly, possibly relieved I wasn't freaking out, and still doing exactly what I say.

Standing in his socks, 'Y' fronts and a t-shirt, I'm trying to make this seem normal.

However, my insides are in turmoil. I should try to get myself under control. Return to my usual safe 42-year-old divorced self. Pretending that this was just a usual part of assisting a customer.

All of that was logical, sensible and better than whatever deranged plan I was following. What sort of plan was it where I was thrusting my nearly fully exposed breasts at him, getting him half-naked and hard?

'Hard' the word echoes through my mind, and I glance back at his crotch unwillingly.

Blame it on those dirty magazines, my year-long abstinence, or wanting some revenge on my Ex. Perhaps it's a last grasp at my fading glory before I dry up an old maid. Whatever the reason, I'm not prepared to let this go so easily.

Instead of handing over the trousers, I dropped to my knees in front of him. His hands are back hovering, trying to cover his 'shame'. Gathering up each trouser leg, I hold them out for him to step into.

"Put your hands on my head if you want to steady yourself."

As I say it, the image of something naughty slides into my imagination. Him gripping my head, as he pushes his hard hot cock roughly into my mouth. Blinking in surprise, it is so intense, I can feel saliva gathering in my mouth. Which is a shock, as I've avoided rough oral sex both in person and in porn.

He gets one leg mostly into the trousers, then wobbles and puts his hands on my head. Staring at his crotch, I catch myself as my mouth starts to open on autopilot. Snapping it shut, and swallowing hard, I try to get a grip on myself.

As he pulls the trousers up, we both realise how tight they are. It makes his bulge more exaggerated as it hangs out of the front.

"That might be tricky," I comment, then cover my mouth to hide the smirk.

However, he manages to wrestle it inside and zip up.

"I think they're too tight." He says, struggling to fasten the button.

"Let me check." Stepping closer, I want to brush my hand over his erection, but manage to control myself and hook a finger into the waistband instead. It's tight, but not too bad. "Try squatting, see if you can sit in them, but do it slowly, so you don't split a seam."

He starts to squat down, then cries out in pain.

"What?" I gasp.

"Something sticking into me."

"Where?"

"My balls." He gasps, and suddenly I'm thinking of the sewing kit. Perhaps someone left pins in the trousers.

"Can you stand up?" He starts to, then stops and shakes his head.

"Could it be a pin or something? Can you pull them down?" He unfastens the trousers, starts to pull them down, and gasps in pain again.

"No. I think it's skewering a bollock." Which sounds rather melodramatic and unlikely to me.

"Let me help. I'm going to slide my hand in to help."

I know I'm doing this to help him, for medical reasons, but as my hand slips past his hard cock, I cannot believe how turned on I am. It's only his thin cotton underwear that's keeping my flesh from his. It takes all my willpower not to wrap my fingers around it.

Pushing lower and the trousers get tighter. My fingers are forced against his scrotum. Lower again, following the curve under, and...

"Ow!" It's definitely a pin or something.

Now I know where it is, I cup the cloth over his ball sack and pull it gently forward. While sliding my other hand down the back of his pants to pull the back of the trousers the other way. A slight movement tells me when it's free.

Reluctantly, removing my hands, I pull the trousers down and off as he stands to cup his injured crotch in both hands. Inspecting the trousers, there are two safety pins in the seam, one of which has popped open.

So it's not something big that skewered him, but still...

"I need to check the wound."

"Excuse me?" He looks at me astonished.

"I need to see how badly you're injured, see if we need to get you to hospital."

"Hospital?" He asks, worried.

"We've no idea how long that pin was in there. It might have been contaminated or rusty. When did you last get a tetanus shot? You really don't want to get lockjaw, trust me I'm a nurse." Another lie, but I figure I've picked up enough to talk the talk from my mother.

"I couldn't."

"Why, isn't your health important enough for you? Or is it you're too embarrassed being half-naked in front of a fully clothed woman?"

I didn't wait for a reply, and shocked even myself, as I found myself tugging my blouse from my jeans and undoing the last buttons. Shrugging it off and throwing it aside, a jolt of excitement shoots through me, I cannot believe I've just done that. Looking down at my bra, I feel a twinge of sadness I'd not worn a nicer one.

However, I can fix that, I'm sure he's not interested in my bra. Only the contents. Reaching behind my back, and unfastening my bra, I have it off before I can give myself a chance to reconsider. Holding it up, then tossing it behind me.

"Wha..." He asks, wide-eyed and seemingly having forgotten any pain from his injury.

"Now, we've just about even, you are half-naked, and I'm half-naked." Any lingering doubt that he'd be repulsed by my body, evaporates.