tagErotic CouplingsThe Changing Room

The Changing Room


He couldn't believe his luck. He had spent the whole day escorting an exotic dark-haired beauty from boutique to boutique, as she tried on dress after dress, even letting him peek into the changing rooms to get his opinion as to how things looked on her. Invariably, the answer was "stunning". How could it be otherwise, with such a delectable model?

She was his friend, visiting from abroad as part of a high-powered government delegation. Whether it was her sheer beauty or her sophistication or the confidence in her step, it attracted looks from all the male passers-by (and a few of the women as well). He soaked it in, unused to the attention that she naturally took for granted.

At the last place, the eager salesgirls, unfailingly able to detect a customer with a taste for the finer things in life, zeroed in on her, and were even nice to him, not quite sure of their relationship. She tried on an ivory-coloured blouse. This time, she called him into the changing room with her. She looked incredible! The jet black of her hair and eyes contrasted and melted into the tan of her face, which set off the cream of the blouse perfectly. It was high collared and covered in beautiful designs. It was snug enough to bring out the voluptuousness of her curves, but as always, impeccably tasteful. Being in the changing room with her was intoxicating, the confined space, her presence. His jeans felt two sizes too small.

His situation was not helped at all when she dragged him into the next place, a lingerie boutique. It was sheer torture, the way she pointed out little nothing thongs and lace see-through bras, all things that she apparently wore! Maybe she was wearing a skimpy thong right now . . . really, the thought made him weak in the knees. Finally, she picked an outfit and went to the back of the store, where the fitting rooms were. He followed her to the aisle between the two rows of changing rooms. She opened the door of one and walked in, closing the door behind her. The door went all the way from the floor to the ceiling, so that he couldn't even catch a peek of her ankles, but he could hear the swishing of clothes inside.

A brief digression now about men's underwear . . . when wearing jeans, it's difficult for men to wear boxer shorts, because they tend to bulk around the thighs. So it has to be either briefs or thongs.

He wished he had worn a brief today, because his erect penis was so engorged that the tip was poking out of the top of his underwear and it was rubbing against the rough denim. Not to mention, making an embarrassing spectacle of himself that he had to hide by strategically arranging his black leather jacket around his body.

"How do I look?" she called out from behind the door.

"Well, I can't tell if I'm on this side of the door," he said weakly.

She opened the door slightly. "Well, then come inside," she said. His heart pounding, he stepped into the changing room.

He gasped.

She was wearing a black chemise. It had spaghetti straps and went to about halfway down her thighs. It was completely transparent. Her ivory neck and shoulders were bare. Through the material, he could see her full, ripe breasts, and the erect round nipples that poked through the material. Her white skin glistened beneath the chemise, until it stopped at her milky thighs.

But his eyes kept returning to her beautiful pussy, outlined behind the gauze. He could see the delicately shaped silhouette of her well-tended mound. She had trimmed it so that there was only a delicate little triangle of soft hair leading delicately to her bare labia.

He was mesmerized by her pussy. It seemed like the centre of her being, where the eyes that soulfully gazed at him found the source of the lust that was staring him in the face.

He fell to his knees for a closer look, until he was eye-level with her groin. He reached up behind her, put his hands on her luscious buttocks, and pulled her to his face. He buried his face between her legs, feeling the lingerie against his face. She started when she felt the pressure of his lips against her mound. His hands pulled the material out of the way. He could smell her skin. It was wonderful, sinful.

She moaned softly when his tongue found the entrance through the folds of her lips. His hands gently pulled her lips open. He licked her crack, moving upwards with his tongue, searching.

When he found what he was looking for, he gently rubbed the tip of his tongue against her engorged clitoris. She was getting wetter and wetter. Her juices were hot and and sexy. He could feel her wetness flowing into his mouth.

He held her arms and pushed her back, so that she sat on the bench at the end of the changing room. She draped her legs around his shoulders and pulled his face deeper into her.

He pushed, feeling his tongue force its way into her opening. His nose and cheeks and chin were dripping with her white cream. She resisted and then gave way, when he inserted his finger into her anus. The combined pressure from his face in her pussy and his finger from behind was compelling. She clutched with her legs around her shoulders and gave way to a series of violent shudders that he felt ripple through his head. He wasn't sure, but he imagined that she was coming, that she was coming against his face, into his mouth. He thought he felt her juices gushing out out of her, drowning him in her sweet musk.

He felt her legs release around him. He stood up and pulled her up to him. They kissed for the first time, as sweetly and tenderly as teenage lovers . . . except for the taste of her salty juices in their open mouths.

Would it end there? Would there be no release for the pounding in his groin, for the aching desire in his painfully erect cock?

She pushed her hips into him, pressing her pubis into him. Relieved, he let his hands wanter down her back to her ass, which he pulled toward him, feeling her grind against him. He reached under her chemise to feel the smoothness and warmth of her derrière against his palms. He rubbed her luscious rump lasciviously, not believing that he was touching her there, where his gaze had always lingered whenever she walked away from him, her hips swaying lazily from side to side.

He felt her hand slide to the bulge in his pants. She stroked, barely at first, but then firmer, feeling the enormous pressure that was almost bursting his zipper apart. Oh, but what sweet torture this was -- if she didn't show him some mercy, he would surely explode and die right there in the changing room.

She rescued him . . . her lovely long fingers found the top of the zipper and pulled it down, they found the button of his jeans and undid them. His penis, jumped out of his pants, already rendering the little thong briefs he was wearing useless.

Would she? Would she??? Yes, she wrapped her hand around his raging cock, and squeezed, gently moving her hand in an up-and-down motion. It was incredible, unbelievable, feeling her hand rub him. He had never felt such pleasure.

There was no stopping him now. He stepped back, pulled off his jeans and briefs in one movement, barely pausing to kick off his shoes. His grateful cock, finally released from all the constraining material, sprang forward, hard and erect, but weighted down somewhat from all the blood that had rushed into it. It gave the jet-black skin of his penis a reddish glow.

There could be no doubt in her mind, from his raging erection, from the way his eyes looked desperately into hers, that he was going to penetrate her.

He almost ran at her, in that tiny space, grabbing at her hips and lifting her. She felt her feet rise off the ground, and wrapped her legs around his hips. Her back fell against the wall of the changing room, supporting her.

He felt the head of his penis against her sopping wet mound. It was electric, the way his cock brushed against her hairs, against her lips, sending goosebumps to his arms.

He buried his face in the wonderful mounds of her breasts, feeling her nipples against his lips, through the material of the negligee. With an insistent thrust of his hips, his cock broke through the slight resistance at the opening of her pussy, plunging deep into her silky wetness.

They paused. And looked at each other. Her face was so beautiful. How often had he seen that face in his dreams. And now he was finally inside her. And looking into her eyes, as he felt the length of his erect shaft against the insides of her hot, tight, wet walls.

And then, like a madman, he was thrusting into her, savouring the feeling as the whole length of his hard prick plunged into her and then back out, with each thrust of his buttocks. She urged him on, drawing him into her with her powerful legs, toned from endless sessions on the elliptical machine at the gym.

There was no way he could hold back. They say that it is harder for women to come, that you should let the woman come first, that once she is done, you could spend yourself inside her. But there was no way.

He came inside her on an inward thrust. He felt his cock spewing his semen into her. He felt the convulsions in his penis, in his groin, his stomach, up his spine, down his legs. With his whole being, he exploded into her, and kept coming for what seemed forever. He felt like he had filled her with gallons of his semen.

Exhausted, he stopped his motion. She unwrapped her legs and let them fall to the floor. She looked up at him, and again they kissed, their lips soft and sweet. When at last they pulled apart, he knew that he would never be the same.

They dressed quickly and left the store. Of course, not before he bought the chemise for her, as a gift and a souvenir.

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