There's something about that delicious little zing you get running up your spine when you do something wrong that's hard to beat. When I was little, I waited until sundown to throw a leg over the neighbor's low fence, creep across the yard, and gently cup and twist from the branch that low-hanging, sun-ripened apple I'd watched fatten and blush all week long. It wasn't any sweeter than an apple you could get from a store, but that little 'you could SO get caught' thrill made braving the autumn chill and those blasted motion-censor porchlights worth the risk.
Perhaps that's why it was so easy to ignore the cramp in my calf or the unnatural twisting of my spine last week as that busty little brunette whose lopsided nametag said "Sabel" was squirming with lusty fervor semi-astride my lap, each stroke of my hard-on gliding into her smooth, hot snatch in the dressing-room at a local department store's menswear section. Even now, the memory of each bounce of those round, soft tits, the way her pouty, pink mouth made that silent, gasping "OH!" when her head tossed back makes me half-hard just thinking about it.
I hadn't in the store there long- I'm a speed-shopper by nature and furthermore, a creature of habit, so I knew right where to go to get exactly what I wanted, and who to talk to about getting it done. In and out, bam, done fast, right? I'd already decided on a couple Kenneth Cole shirts in flattering colors and a nice tie for work, now I was just dithering over a couple pairs of trousers, for work, or going out someplace nice afterward.
Not that it'd be with a girl, though (nor with a guy- to each his own, but I only swing one way, thankyouverrehmuch). I'm one of those thirty-something dudes all the grandmas try to push their bank-teller or dress-shop saleslady grandbabies on when they see me at work in my bookstore, or the grocery store (which is why I shop late at night). These sweet ladies always believe that everything in the universe has that perfect match, that attractive opposite that makes two haves a whole. At first, it was all I could do to keep my eyes from rolling when I got cornered, but now, it's easy to give them one of those dimpled, crooked half-smiles I've practiced over the years, tuck my hands in my pockets with an indulgent boyish "aw, shucks, Mrs. Whoever" shrug, then offer a rain-check when I'm not quite so tied up with working on The Novel- you know, that beautiful, ever-unfinished, completely non-existent scapegoat of convenience.
It isn't that I don't like girls. I just don't like *those* girls. They're boring. So they have silky hair and smooth, golden skin and smell great. What do they read? What's on their iPod playlist? When they go out, are they going to have a steak with me, or one of those peasy little salads and a Diet Coke? "Oh, my Isabel is just *darling*! Such a smart, sweet girl- perfect for you! A real go-getter, too!" one would coo, trying to push a photograph toward me, or pen poised over their kitten stationery to get my phone number or e-mail to pass along to whatever bachelorette was in the running that week. Sigh.
I don't care much for bad girls, either. The kind who are all lady on the streets, freak in the sheets after two Cosmos and some vertical grinding in a seizure-lit smelly club on the Southside. The kind who travel in packs, have more tattoos than the Harley crowd, have the forced Southern accent over a vocal pitch of an eight-year-old, and who are in their thirties but still shop at Charlotte Russe for their hooker-wear. So you can suck the paint off a '79 vette without smearing your Bobbi Brown. Super. They're fun, they're cute, they look nice looped over my arm above my Fossil watch or over my cock after a couple drinks at their place, but I get tired of waiting on them primping, of trying to figure out which Jonas brother they're talking about, and it's useless to try to keep up with Whose Wedding of Whose Best Friend Sucked Because So and So's BFF Fucked the Groom A Week Before They Got Back Together and Married. Oh- I forgot- And Put The Pics on Facebook.
Then again, all of these stipulations and fine print in my mental set of standards kind of fell out my ear when Sabel slithered into the tiny dressing-room with me, closing the door with a click of her nails, sliding the latch over with a devilish grin. One red-laquered fingernail was toying with one of the pink pearl buttons on the front of her shirt, and I couldn't help but notice that she'd doffed the scarf she'd had around her neck earlier and a few of those buttons had come undone, gapping the increasing V down her chest a bit more than was probably in the employee handbook's dress-code section.
"Ah- I'm f-fine, I'm just ah..." I stammered uselessly, caught with my hand down my pants. Shit- was that a pink bra, too, or off-white? Just what? Pinstripe or charcoal? Make a decision already, Marc, geez! Then again, if my brain had been on top of things that day, I might never have gotten the best customer service of my life beneath that foxy, brilliant brunette.
I'd been dawdling over tucking the tail of my shirt in when, for just a moment, my thoughts wandered over the form of the new sales-girl, the one with the slick twist of hair all wadded up with two chopsticks, her cleavage popping out of that "responsible girl" tailored pink blouse tucked smoothly into that black skirt that stopped about mid-thigh on those fabulous caramel stems. Oh, my god, and those extra-pointy black heels... those get me *every* time... How could someone so clean and professional looking also appear so naughty librarian, turn me over your knee and spank my bad boy ass good?
She was still standing there, inches away from me, the scent of her cologne drifting up past my sweaty upper lip to tease my nostrils along with body wash and warm skin. "No, you look like you need a little help, sir," she smiled sweetly. "I've been watching you move around our store, and I think you have something that belongs to me," she added just as innocently, the toe of one shoe grazing up the smooth calf of her standing leg.
I blinked dumbly for a second. "Um... no?, I just- ah..." I cleared my throat, jerking my hand out and buttoning my own trousers around my waist. "Th-this shirt, I was trying on- but these are mine, Ma'am. Is this a new policy? Hands-on changing-room surveillance?" It was lame, I admit, but kept my mind off the sudden spike in temperature, and the odd shape assuming itself down the top part of my left leg. Oh, shit...
Sabel took another step, until she was closer still. Even with heels on, the top of her head just barely came up to my chin, and I noticed that her eyes weren't hazel, but a fascinating green with deep flecks of brown radiating out from the gradually-dilating pupils. There was a small mole higher up on her cheek, and... and...
And her fingertips began to unbutton the shirt I'd picked all the pins out of, unfolded, and put on with every intention of folding right back up so someone else didn't have to. As her knuckles grazed my ribcage even through the fabric, a breath jerked my navel inward in a soft gasp. Her nose wrinkled and she bit that glossy bottom lip with a smile. "Ssshh, this'll only take a minute," she whispered as she peeled the shirt off my torso and left the sleeves to me. When I freed myself of them, the shirt landed with a soft flump on the floor, and my hands went to her smooth upper arms, just below the short sleeves of her blouse.
For a moment, I just looked at her, then murmured, "Lady, are you for real?" I watched her pretty heart-shaped face carefully, but the mischievous smile never wavered, she never pulled back. I saw two round pebbles jutting through the front of her blouse, right before I closed my eyes and lowered my mouth to hers. I have no logical explanation for my behavior. None of it made sense, but perhaps, in retrospect, that was the serendipitous beauty of it. Either way... wow.
Her soft, warm hands rested themselves on my face as she eagerly returned the kiss I'd tentatively offered with an eager-to-please rebuttal, seeing my lips and raising me- literally- when her tongue darted out and snaked along my bottom lip before she nipped it, drawing it into her own mouth. Oh, god, this was crazy, what was I doing? I was kissing a hot girl in a dressing-room, yeah, but... "Oh, my god, you're such a cutie," she giggled softly as she withdrew a little, opening her eyes. Her hands had left my face, but I was aware of them still moving over my body, tracing the contours of muscle over my broad shoulders, my defined biceps, down my chest and stomach. I don't know which turned me on more, the feeling of her soft fingertips, or the gentle raking of her fingernails over my skin.
A cutie? I blinked again- no, I don't have tics. I'd never really thought of myself as Derek Zoolander would have said- "Really, really good-looking". I was kind of round and whiny when I was a kid, which of course gave way to the coltish gangliness of my teenage years where my legs were too long, my head was too big, my wrists were too girly, and when I spoke, I sounded like Bobcat Goldthwaite on a rollercoaster. And Helium.
I'd always guess I shaped up well enough after that, but I didn't take a lot of pains with it. I was about 6'2, modestly fit from three days a week at the gym plus afternoon jogs, and I was a Subway fan for lunch. Dinner was usually a glass of Woodford on the rocks and a Lean Cuisine before I fell asleep reading John Clinch to the sounds of the ocean- on my 'go to sleep noise machine'. My hairline hadn't receded much at thirty-five, and it was still a dark brown that made my darker brown eyes and olive skin-tone all complement one another. Thankfully, I wasn't a hairy sasquatch, with only a small bunnytrail down my torso, but I did manscape. Thankfully, no grey- anywhere.
And Sabel was definitely close to finding out just how short I kept my lawn now as the zipper in her fingers eased it's way down with a zing. I didn't even realize that my own quaking fingers were fumbling with the buttons on her blouse until they reached the bottom- and when had she untucked it?- and it fell open, revealing a smooth expanse of sweet-smelling skin, a pink bra (ooh, soft cotton lace), and a pierced navel. Something about the small silver BabyPhat charm dangling over her innie made me want to flick that kitty with my tongue just to watch her wiggle. Alas, there wasn't enough room, though, not with all our clothes falling off and taking up space.
I helped her out of her blouse, my lips grazing hers again, but then they decided to take the path not-yet-taken. As I kissed a trail down her neck, I took time to smell the roses- or whatever it was that she was wearing, and taste the sweet skin fluttering above her pulse-point, eliciting a gasp from her, a soft groan. Her hands were tangled in my hair now as I wandered around to touch the tip of my tongue to the juncture of collarbones at the base of her throat, and my hands roved up her spine, enjoying the play of pliant skin above the soft bumps of vertebrae, all the way up to the clasp of her bra.
With a twist of thumb and forefinger, I felt the soft fabric give way, and my knees nearly did, too, as I felt her reach into the front of my pants and close around a fistful of my hard-on. She touched it gently at first, tugging it carefully out of the waistband of my boxers, adjusting them so it could bob free and upright. I tried to focus on skimming the dainty straps down her smooth, entirely kissable shoulders, but a shudder rocked my whole body when she began stroking the length of my shaft with one hand, cradling the base of it and the smooth sac with the other.
"God, Baby, that feels good," I murmured against her skin, sliding the bra completely away and pulling her against me so that I could feel the hard pebbles of her nipples against my bare flesh for a moment. After that, I had to taste them for myself.
"Ooh," she groaned softly, her steady rhythm on my cock becoming momentarily jerky as first my mouth, then my tongue encircled one of the buds, small, tight and sweet like a little strawberry, and began working gentle circles around it, sucking slightly. My mouth danced around first one, then the other, until both were gleaming wet and turgid, cooling from my warm kiss with each gentle breath I blew on them. For a second, I returned to her mouth, my tongue seeking gentle entry into hers, and when she readily accepted, I kissed her with a deep longing, both to continue what we were doing, but the startling hope that whatever happened here, we could start something else when she punched out maybe.
Oh, what those church-ladies would think...
I thought I wanted to see how long her hair was. With a quick click, I slid the two sticks out of her hair and tossed them away. A solid sheet of mahogany cascaded down in one soft whoosh, covering my fingers, not stopping until it brushed the top of her skirt's back-zipper, which I quickly set to work on while she brushed feathery kisses down my torso. When the skirt slid away, my fingertips rested over the waistband of her lacy pink boyshorts, but she had another idea.
"Not so fast," she hissed softly against my ear as she released my hard-on, and gently pushed me down to the little wedge-shaped bench in the corner of the stall, giving my boxers a wiggle downward just a little farther before my butt hit cold plastic. There wasn't enough room for my legs, so I had to kind of do the half-splits- my knee against one wall, my ankle underneath the partition and into the other stall. It was a little awkward, but then again, here I was in a changing room with a gorgeous stranger and a boner to beat all.
Transfixed, I watched as she slid the skirt down and kicked it off, then rolled her underwear down her legs, removing them, too. The shoes she left on, and at that, my cock gave a soft throb. It was incredibly sexy, the way the heels made her already shapely legs look that much longer and slimmer. "Baby, You're gorgeous," I said as I reached one hand out to rest on her hip, my fingertips trailing down her thigh. She took my other hand, placing something inside it, before leaning over me for another kiss. My hand closed around a small, cool square. My heart jumped when my brain recognized what it was.
My expression must have been gobsmacked, for when she looked into my eyes, she gave a dimply laugh before taking it from me, teasing, "I guess I better do this, huh?" I loved her smile immediately... I loved how she didn't have to cake on heavy eyeliner or paint over the smoker's lines in her pretty face. How old was she? Couldn't have been more than twenty-six.
"Sabel," I breathed, taking both her wrists gently. "Please, let me taste you first," I couldn't keep the hint of pleading out of my voice as I gazed up into her eyes. We were both breathing heavily, past the point of arousal, and I could smell the cloying musk of her desire in the humid air surrounding us. "Please," I insisted softly, my thumbs brushing over the smooth skin inside her wrists, one hand sliding the stretchy keyring with her id card on it off and placing it gently aside.
She seemed to consider it for a moment before she slid out of her shoes, lifting one leg to brace a bare foot on my shoulder, skewing her knee outwards. There I was, dead-level with that soft, succulent woman's sex, flushed and wet, right before me. It was smooth, bare, except for a small, dark thumbprint of soft fuzz at the top of the slash that remained closed. That was, it did until I slipped inside it with two fingers from the top, spreading the petals wide enough so that I could roll the pad of my thumb over the sharp little pearl throbbing hotly at the top, eliciting a stifled groan and a wriggle from her, her toes curling on my shoulder. Slowly, I worked her clit in lazy circles until my fingers were slick and shining with her dampness, then I licked my lips and withdrew my digits, grazing the tip of my tongue from the bottom of the flushed, hot slit all the way to the top. She gave a wavery sort of pant, slipping her hips so that she worked herself along my tongue, and I continued deeper, holding her open with my fingers, savoring long, slow teases of her salty flesh with my tongue, worrying that little bud with my lips and even gently with my teeth. I slid my tongue in deeper, closer to her hot center, and the squeak she let out came dangerously close to being heard outside. We both paused for a moment, listening, but heard nothing but contemporary pop playing softly on the intercom. With a few more nuzzles and prods, she was gasping, and a rime of pearly perspiration brightened her cheeks as she reached once again for the rubber.
"Okay, My turn," she mumbled as she tore open a corner with her teeth, spitting part of it aside, and she oozed out the slippery ring of latex. I gasped when the ring eased past my cockhead. It was tighter than I remembered them being, fitting my erection snugly all the way to the base, just as I hoped to have Sabel in the next few seconds.
There was a moment when we were at cross-purposes- facing or away?- when she finally decided away was best. Suited me fine- although I'd loved to have had her soft breasts to play with and her kiss-swollen mouth to taste, I loved the smooth plane of her back, the sweep of her hair over her shoulders all wild and fragrant, and I was trying to make out the meaning of the small tattoo she had in the middle of her lower back.
I almost yelped when I felt her slick folds brush the crown of my cock, then the weight of her body as I entered her, gravity gently easing her downward with an inward convulsing that rippled her surprisingly tight grip along my length. "Ohgodohgodohgod," I had to murmur steadily through gritted teeth as I shifted, finding purchase with my heels on the floor, my hands resting on her hips for now. As it turned out, I could still gently fondle her nipples, tweaking them softly with thumb and forefinger, then running my hands along the sensuous curves of her body until one hand dipped between her legs.
Through fleeting trial and error, I began a slow, careful rhythm that pushed me slowly inside, then drew me quickly back out, assisted with her rising and falling on my lap as though she were posting a trot on a showpony. Mmm, she rode well- firm seat, great legs, gentle hands... I'd let her get in my saddle any time she wanted, the way she was fucking me, giving as good as she got, unafraid to (softly) voice her appreciation and reciprocate.
As we eased our bodies against and away from one another repeatedly, I could enjoy the sensation through the condom of her contours and ridges, the slick, hot grip of her sliding along my throbbing cock, each stroke punctuated with a grunt or sigh from one of us, mine muffled in her mane, hers against her bitten bottom lip. I almost blew it at once when I realized that if I peered around her slim waist that I could see us both fucking in the mirror in front of us... and then almost did again when she impaled herself completely on me, her bottom resting against the root of my cock, my hips, and she spread her legs wide open. I could see myself entering her, disappearing deeply into her, and coming out glistening wet with her juice, cutting into those swollen lips of hers with each increasingly hard, fast stroke. I had to close my eyes against the sight of me splitting her like that, and she noticed, too.
"You like that?" she panted. "You like watching that big cock fucking my hot little pussy?" she goaded me into driving into her faster than ever, my pulse suddenly quickening with each jolt my the sensitive nerve-endings in my cock sent in a burning current up my spine to dissipate in sparks all over my body. "Bet you'd love to fuck my ass, too..."
"You freak," I replied breathlessly, with a grin, though. "It's all I can do to keep quiet now!" But conversation was cut short as the slow boil deep within my gut began to roil, muscles clenching toward the floor of my stomach like a hard, tight fist pulling and narrowing everything down to the one moment she was galloping for head-first, too.