Trouble and Strife

He stopped in front of the large pane of glass that was the shop window. But rather than looking in at what was on display, his eyes focused on the reflection looking back at him. His image looked a little dishevelled and wet, from being caught in the snow shower, as he walked from his car into the shopping centre. Although now mostly dry, the effects had left their mark on his countenance. He looked like a man on a mission, desperate even. Or was that resignation? Was he to be defeated this year in his search?

It was near Christmas. Too near, the 22nd of December. And like a multitude of men at this very point in time, he had not got a single present yet, for his wife! But to be fair to him, they had been married for nearly twenty years, so it wasn't surprising that it was getting harder every year. The astute amongst you would know doubt say, 'Well he should give himself more time then; start looking earlier'. And you would of course be right. Unfortunately, he hadn't. And he was now faced with the prospect of the impossibility of his task.

Having said that, if he got another pack of socks or underwear from his wife, he would have to say something to her. His 'smalls' draw, was full to over-flowing. And besides, it was one thing to get that sort of present from his two lovely daughters, but from Sophia?

His reflection had screwed up its face in obvious annoyance. On seeing it, he broke out in a grin. He never could stay cross for long, his positivity and inwardly, deep-rooted happiness would not allow it. As he looked at the tanned face and square-cut jaw, with a perfect dimple in the chin, staring back at him; the grin transformed into a fully-fledged smile, that crinkled the edges of his almond-shaped eyes. The crystalline opal-blue irises, looked piercing enough to cut through the glass before him. But if a second or two were taken to look deeper into them, they would reveal a compassion and kindness that had no bounds.

His loose, rather untidy hair, had been blown about by the snow-storm and he found himself combing his fingers through it. The coal black colour, had been deepened by its recent wetting, and like most things about him, did not want to conform. Despite his attempts, he still looked dishevelled. Slipping on his glasses, only made his image clearer, and reinforced the fact. He smiled even more, being reminded of his colleagues 'nick-name' for him of Clark-ke. As in Clark Kent, Superman's less dynamic alter ego. Yes, his name was Clark, and yes, facially he did resemble the square-jawed comic book hero. He even had some well-defined muscle-bulk. A broad chest, narrow waist. Powerful latissimus dorsi, which gave his back a classical 'v' shape to it. But proportionally, he felt he was in no-way comparable to some of the recent actors that played Superman on film.

His parents had not named him because of the superhero either. They had chosen the name in respect, honour and sympathy for his father's brother; who had eventually lost his fight with cancer two months before Clark was born. His 2nd Christian name had been Clark. As he grew, he learned more about his uncle and was proud to carry on with a name that was synonymous with doing good. Something that Clark hoped he maintained to this day.

Clark removed his coat; he was now more than a little warm. Working outside in most conditions as a day job; he would often find clothing restrictive; normally being found on site, bare-chested and in shorts. The roll-neck sweater, that he currently wore, displayed his broad chest nicely, not that he wore it for that. He wore it because Abigail, his youngest had given it to him for his birthday. It was of simple, yet aesthetic design, and to be honest, a little too small for him, particularly the sleeves, but he could see it light her face up every time he wore it, and that for him was more than enough reason for putting up with the tightness. He had the sleeves permanently pushed up anyway. His trousers were casual and the beige colour complimented his tanned face and arms. They were comfortable but he found them very restrictive compared to his shorts; particularly about his thigh muscles, where the material was pulled very tight. In fact, his clothing did not leave too much to the imagination of the casual on-looker.

Clark had never been to the gym a day in his life. He didn't feel the need. He still played rugby of a weekend, and when not playing, did some coaching for under-privileged kids. During the week his day job was timber-framing. He was a foreman running several teams of guys. Where needed, he would step in to ensure the builds stayed on track. He loved to use the computing power of his brain to work out problems or issues, then get involved in the physicality of the task. He felt he was so much better off, doing that, than sitting at a desk behind a computer screen.

A movement in the window to his right, made him refocus his eyes. He removed his glasses and saw that a female shop assistant was smiling back at him. He realised instantly, that she must have thought he was looking in the window at her rather than his uncharacteristically narcissistic musings. She gave him a wink and proceeded to undress one of the mannequins, rolling down what appeared to be latex rubber gloves, which ran from the mannequin's upper arms to its fingertips. The deep, almost blood-red colour of the latex, Clark found quite striking. As he expanded his narrow view, to take in the whole shop. He realised that he had been standing outside of a lingerie and bondage shop, for what probably amounted to ten minutes.

Clark wasn't prone to embarrassment. In his forty years of life, he had seen most things. And had always dealt with them in his calm, charismatic manner. Ever willing to step in and help if he could, or control if the situation was becoming difficult to handle or even violent. He was one of those people that others gravitated to for protection, or authority. He had no idea why?

What Clark had never done however, was enter into the world of bondage, or for that matter lingerie. He would of course say to his wife that he wanted to buy her some nice bra and panties sets. But he would always insist she was with him. Mainly to try them on, mainly because like most men, he didn't have a clue what his partner liked, wanted, what her size was, particularly in the breast department and what was appropriate. He didn't want his wife thinking he was some sort of pervert, or she some sort of sex slave. Then again, he would never have considered going it alone on an 'undies sortie'.

As for stockings, suspenders, crotchless tights, crotchless panties, body stockings....... Clark did not have a clue. Realising it would have appeared that he had been staring in at the attire of the female shaped mannequins, and the very sexy, erotic clothing that they wore, made him flush all the more. He looked around, expecting people to be pointing at him, shouting 'pervert' or some-such other synonyms of the verb. But people were just going about their business, ignoring all but their own single-minded issues.

He turned back to the blonde shop assistant, who now had her back to him. He noted that she was wearing ridiculously high ankle boots, with rather vicious looking studs upon them, black patterned fishnet tights. An extremely short and very tight leather skirt with, in comparison, a rather conservative black, almost samite like blouse. At least he thought as much, until she turned and he noted the acknowledgement to bondage on it, was that instead of buttons, the blouse was held in place by a network of ties across the woman's chest and this was mirrored on the sleeves. Her red bra was discernible beneath the blouse and complimented the outfit to perfection, as did the contents of it, which were firm and being very much forced out of their restrictive enclosure.

As the shop assistant moved around the model, she looked back up at Clark and smiled coyly. Before she seductively drew down the back zip, on the model's latex top. The shop assistant held the piece in place with her arm across the mannequin's breasts, before dramatically raising her arms in a 'tad-dar' moment, and letting the garment fall to the floor, revealing the mannequin's naked breasts, breasts that not only had nipples, but they had been coloured too, presumable to show prospective purchasers, that certain items would reveal the nubs of erectile flesh? As Clark looked back at the shop assistant, she seductively knelt down behind the model, competent in her ability, despite the shortness of her skirt, in not flashing Clark a glimpse of her panties. She began to unzip the model's skirt, gently drawing it down the thighs of the feminine form, whilst staring directly at him.

Clark was entranced. He had no idea why, but he suddenly found this whole thing incredibly erotic. He had never been to a strip club in his life. Didn't really know what lap-dancing was either, though thought he could guess; yet here before him, in the context of a shopping centre, was a woman ostensibly stripping another woman, before his very eyes. He found it rather disturbing that it was having an effect on him, and not just internally. Unfortunately, like many men, when the provocation was instigated, the outcome was inevitable. The other problem with men, was as they got aroused, the whole world knew about it. No small amount of wetness between the thighs, no erect nipples that would be hidden by a bra, in most cases. Women were extremely lucky that they could be aroused and no-one would know. But, if men got aroused then all could see, to some greater, or lesser degree, dependant on the size of the man; but all could see.

Clark considered why he was getting turned on, rather than paying attention to what his bodily reaction was to that arousal. Afterall, one of these 'women' was a dummy for goodness' sake. As he looked on, the sexy blonde shop assistant had released the skirt at the ankles of the dummy, and had slipped her perfectly manicured, deep red nails, into the waist-band of the models black, thong-like panties. Had the model any true definition in that area, or even pubic hair; these panties would have hidden nothing. The lovely shop assistant, paused, for dramatic effect, with the panties at the top of the mannequin's thighs, its superficial genitalia exposed, before kissing the well-rounded, buttock before her.

Hume's theory of Cause and Effect had been in place since Clark had noticed the blonde shop assistant. The 'Cause', of his arousal, had been completely at the hands of the young woman, the effect now began to unravel before his eyes. He had been slow to cover his burgeoning embarrassment; too slow, for as the assistant completed her kiss and let go of the thong, which Clark watched slide gently to the model's feet. It was evident that his slowness, had allowed the woman to make eye contact with his reacting anatomy, thus resulting in the next few seconds of mayhem.

The young woman's mouth fell open, presumably in shock and she shuffled backwards to stand. Probably, he thought, to turn and walk away in disgust. But unfortunately, her very high heels, lost their footing upon the dais, and with arms flapping, in a frantic effort to maintain her balance; the shop assistant fell backwards in seeming slow-motion. Her shock at seeing his manifestation of arousal, had turned to horror as she knew she could not save herself from the backwards fall. In a last-ditch attempt to remain upright, she grabbed the shoulder of the mannequin, which was not secured in anyway, to the dais; both therefore continued their backwards fall. With a flurry of long, black-clad legs, that had separated nicely to reveal that the woman was in fact wearing hold-up stockings, rather than tights, and very skimpy red panties, presumably the match of the bra she wore. Both the woman and the mannequin disappeared from sight.

Clark did not stop to think, and rushed into the shop. He knew he was to blame for the demise of the young woman's dignity and he was completely ashamed of himself. As he reached the scene of his crime; he voiced his chagrin. "Miss, I am so very sorry. Please forgive me. I do hope you are alright? If I may, please allow me to help you up?"

"Please, please. Don't worry. I have done it before, unfortunately, though not normally creating as much carnage. And how could it possibly have been your fault.....?"

"I.....I....well shall we say, I distracted you?" Clark removed the torso of the mannequin from the young woman's chest. It had lost both of its arms in the fall and one leg. But despite the situation, he couldn't get the thought out of his head of the naked pseudo woman, on top of the other.

With the dummy out of the way, the erotically dressed assistant, looked like she had reached the end of a very long and alcohol infused party. Her skirt had become a belt, revealing her delicate white-fleshed upper thighs. Her long legs, were in a figure four, with one ankle hidden beneath the thigh of the other. Her stockings were torn. Her little red panties, were indeed the match of her bra, which currently was revealed by the blouse's inability to protect it. He immediately took in the slightly damp patch on them where they creased into the woman's folds, but then quickly averted his stare.

Clark dropped his coat to the floor and knelt beside the woman. Let me help you up, though gently, you may have sprained or even broken something. Are you in any pain? I am a trained first aider, but appreciate you may not want me checking you over, at least without a witness being present. Is there someone at the back of the shop I can call?"

"I'm fine really." The woman, tried to pull on her skirt to cover herself, very much having noticed his roving eyes. "I'm on my own, tonight, my colleague phoned in sick."

"Well then I insist that you let me check you over and make sure you are ok."

"I suppose it would only be fair, after all....."

Clark looked at her not quite getting her meaning, then got to work checking her over, starting with her wrists, which were fine and moving along the radius and ulna to her elbows. "These would be the bones most-likely to break in a fall." The woman winced as he reached her right elbow. "My name is Clark" he said, trying to take her mind from the pain as he investigated the graze on the elbow. "Do you have any icepacks in your first aid kit........?"

"Vanessa, my name is Vanessa. And yes, over there in that cupboard."

Clark got one of the packs and picked up the first aid kit. He had noticed a little blood on the floor, coming from her thigh area, where it was resting on her ankle boot, he assumed that the boot studs had cut her leg. He broke the icepack and mixed the contents. "There hold that on the elbow. There is nothing broken, but this will stop it from swelling. Can I just have a look at your clavicles?"

"I haven't heard them called that before," Vanessa giggled, obviously a little high on adrenalin.

Clark felt along her collar bones, they felt fine, and both shoulders were where they should be, so nothing displaced or broken there. He noted that his gentle touch had raised goose bumps all over Vanessa's flesh and the exposed bra cup, full of a ripe breast, showed that her nipples had followed suit in raising upon her breasts. "All seems ok up the top. Let's have a look at your legs now."

"I thought you had seen enough of them already?"

"Yes, well, once again, I must apologise for my behaviour in that regard. Now if you can lift up your bottom for me, I'll pull your skirt down."

"Wow this is a thorough check over, why do you need my skirt off?"

"Not off Vanessa no, down, as in, to cover you up. You are revealing quite a bit more than I think you are aware of."

"Oh?" She tried to raise herself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I......."

"No, stay flat for now, until I have finished. Please raise your bum. Good." Clark pulled down her short skirt. It barely covered her, but at least it was something. In truth, it was more for his comfort than for hers. He was finding this situation was making him very 'warm' and extremely hard. He checked her straight leg first, the ankle was fine, no doubt protected by the ankle boot, so he lifted her whole leg. "I'm just raising this, so that I can remove your other leg from beneath. There is a small amount of blood, so I think the studs on your boots have cut into your thigh. But I don't think it is too bad. I'll check the leg first, then when you stand, I can get a better look at the back of your thigh."

"Ok, well you've already seen my panties, so lifting my leg isn't going to show anything more."

Not quite true, thought Clark as he once again saw the wet patch on Vanessa's panties, which looked to be a little larger and a little wetter than last time. He felt his alter ego twitch in his boxers, though Clark felt there was nothing particularly 'Super' about that, it was more of a distraction, an annoyance, very unprofessional and unwarranted, given that he was administering first aid. So, he gave himself a silent barracking for it.

"Right Vanessa. Everything seems ok. Did you bang your head at all?"

"No, pretty sure I came down on my elbows."

"Fine, do you want to get up then, I'll help, and we'll try a few steps over to that seat."

Clark almost picked her up, rather than allowing her to get up herself. Compared to the weights he was used to moving around at work, she felt very light. He held her about the waist and guided her to the chair.

Vanessa shook. This guy was massive. Powerful, authoritative and above all extremely kind. His deep baritone voice sent shivers down through her body to her very core. She was flushed, breathing quickly and could hear her heart-beat in her inner ear. She felt very wobbly on her feet, but considered that to be more because of the man beside her holding onto her waist, than from the fall. Her body kept breaking out in goose-bumps whenever he touched her, and she knew there were other things happening in other places. She could only hope he hadn't noticed?

"Now I know this is going to sound funny," said Clark with a wry smile. But if you could hold onto that chair, bending slightly, and I will attend to your thigh. Is that ok?"

"You're the doctor." Vanessa giggled. Raising a little smile in Clark. "No, I'm only messing. Of course, it is. Do you want me bent over like this?" She fully bent at the waist, presenting him with a rather perfect behind, held very tightly within the leather skirt, but only just.

Clark was about to protest that he did not need her to bend over anywhere near that much, but decided that discretion was needed here. In other words. He needed to get this done, and move on. Vanessa was becoming a little too flirty for his comfort. "Now I'm just going to raise your skirt, then pull down your stocking, so I can get at it. Is that ok?"

"I'm sure you know the answer to that by now Clark. Of course, it is, I'll let you do whatever you need to do."

The inflection and slight quaver in her voice, left him in now doubt, to what she was referring. He was quite sure if he had lifted her skirt, and pulled down her panties, ramming what was his rampant hard-on, deeply within her wet folds; he would get very little in the way of protest from Vanessa. But Clark was not that sort of man. Of course, he was turned on by the body before him, how could he not be? Vanessa had fabulously long, toned legs. She had a well-rounded, firm bum, that he could see would fit the cup of his hands nicely. Her thin waist only accentuated her breasts all the more, making them look larger than they were. But it was her large hazel eyes and pronounced cupids bow of a mouth that he had first really taken note of.

Another place, another time and Clark would have had the utmost pleasure in giving this woman anything she asked for. But that was before his marriage to Sophia. For now, he was locked into a contract of fidelity, of trust and of companionship. Clark would not blow that, for all of the Vanessa's in the world. Despite all of that, he was still just a man. A man with simple sexual responses. Men were after all visual creatures. That is why porn predominantly appealed more to them than women. That was why they appreciated 'girlie mags', that was why they felt that if a woman was dressed in sexy attire, it was for them that the woman was doing it, rather than for the woman herself. Simple beings were men. And simply unable, despite years of attempting; to control the growth of their penis' when given the afore-mention stimulus.