Chapter 1
Jeff Denver's eyes trailed the beautiful girl's behind as she swung her shopping cart around the end of one aisle and headed down the next. What an ass! He was a sucker for tall girls and this one was an Amazon.
Those curvaceous hips swaying left and right as she sauntered down the aisle, surveying the well-stocked shelves. And those legs! They went on forever, like a turnpike. He would love to just sit somewhere quietly with her for a few minutes and put his muscular school-boy hand on one of those smooth, dimpled knees. Maybe she'd let him run his hand up a ways, up, up to God knows what!
The thought of what he might find at the crossroads of those sensational gams was enough to make him spill the case of canned peas he was holding.
"Watch that!" an old lady said, elbowing him out of the center of the aisle. "I'm trying to get through."
Jeff hurled his weight against the shelf to give her a wide berth. He didn't want any old ladies interrupting his fantasies. Not about this dame. He began picking up the errant rolling pea cans as his thoughts darted around. She had just come in and he would get a chance to glimpse her again once she strolled back down to the end of the aisle. Working at the supermarket had its compensations, today anyway. Not that it was a bad job, even if it was only for the summer. He was lucky to get it. There weren't that many part time jobs available in Pike's Crossing. It was just a little whistle stop village anyway. The big tourist attraction was Chatham, nearly five miles down the highway. Where the rich and famous congregated.
But that was there and this was now. He stacked the last of the cans onto the shelf and reached for his feather duster. He thought it best to act busy, especially since it was a cover for him spying. Spying on the gorgeous tall wonder woman making her way along the aisle next to his.
Any second she would appear, less than three yards from where he stood now. He wanted to burst into song. Maybe she'd look at him. He'd have to be prepared for that. Act nonchalant, he told himself. He felt his chin. Not much stubble there to speak of. He had only been shaving for six months. Probably didn't look too rugged. In case she went for he-men, he would be out of the running.
But there was a chance possibility she liked younger guys. He had the inside track on that one around here. The clerks and managers were all over forty. He was the fair-haired boy on the premises.
He heard her swerve her cart to a stop and listened hard as she picked over the shelves for something. A jar, a box, a carton. He wished he had X-ray vision and could see through walls.
He could imagine how she would be standing, her weight thrown onto one out thrust hip. That delicious, rounded hip. And the way it was poured into her tight, leather skirt. Girls around here didn't wear leather, except on their shoes. Too bad. He had kind of a thing for leather.
Once he had seen a picture of a naked girl with big, thunderous tits sticking out toward the camera. She held a gigantic black bull whip in her hand. Just the handle of it. The leather strap was wound tightly around one of her tantalizing big knockers. He must have gone steady with that picture for a month.
And the girl in it looked so suave, so cool, like this woman. He closed his eyes harder and imagined how this woman, this erotic creature less than a yard away through the wall of groceries might have posed for that picture. The thought rushed down to his groin, gathering a quart of blood as it did so.
Jeff looked down and saw his white apron tenting out in front of him.
"Fucking baggy pants," he said between clenched teeth. He took in a sharp stream of air and kicked the shelf with his sneakered foot. Maybe a good swift kick would make his hard on go down. No luck.
It stayed there, flailing around under his apron. He was afraid to stand away from the shelf. Any shopper passing by could tell at a glance that his cock was misbehaving
Jeff cursed himself for not wearing underwear that morning. Cursed himself for being so damned young and inexperienced that he could get tripped up by a little hard on. Damned if that thing was gonna stop him from confronting the lovely lady as she strolled past him. Damned if it wasn't.
It stuck fast. It was getting harder. He knocked his head against a container of laundry bleach. He felt like a child. A hard child. Harder than most children ever got.
He heard the familiar squeak of the shopping cart wheels roll closer. He tried to bring himself to an upright position. He thought of her face. That would get his cock down. Thinking of something pretty, not sexual, just pretty. Her face was the face of a calendar girl. Long, black curly hair, her forehead hidden a little by bangs, big grey-green eyes with long jet-black lashes and pouty pink lips.
He mentally scanned her neck and throat. Then, inevitably, he saw her tits in his field of vision. They were luscious huge melons of desire. He wanted to pluck them, to suck them red and wet and swollen. His cock throbbed anew with each mental picture.
He looked up to see the front of the shopping cart rounding the corner. He automatically reached up and patted his sandy blonde hair into place. Then, he bent over and pretended to dust the shelves. Bending over like that, no one could tell he had a hard on.
The luscious lady's tits came into view, then her swaying tight hips and long, svelte legs, firmly bivouacked in silky see-through stockings. Those smooth flanks, the ones he so desperately wanted to ...
His thoughts were interrupted by the woman's words. Honey tones poured out of her lips as she addressed him.
"Scuse me, but," she said, cocking her lovely head to one side and staring straight at him, "where's the powdered milk?"
Jeff opened his mouth and spoke though he made no sound for several seconds. This was embarrassing. And he didn't dare straighten up. He felt awkward. He pointed, still leaning over the shelf, as though he were a shy hunchback giving directions.
"That aisle," he said, feeling his rigid balls grind against the base of his dick shaft. How the hell had they ridden so high up anyway?
"Which end?" the deep, throaty voice spoke again.
Jeff thought her words might melt his clothes down. Then he would be left standing there naked with his big, throbbing erection sticking straight out. Maybe he could use that as a pointer.
"Half-way down," he said finally finding his voice and shaping the words into vowels and syllables. It was hard, but he did it.
"Thanks," the pink lips said, "see you at the checkout stand." The tall, sexy woman smiled at him and flicked her lid down coyly.
She was gone. Just like that.
Fucking shit! Jeff thought to himself. I swear she winked at me. I know she smiled. But it looked like a wink. Maybe she had something in her eye. Didn't look that way!
He reached down and patted the apron. The part that jutted up. Why the hell wouldn't that little bastard go down? He couldn't even walk to the checkout stand until it did.
Maybe, if he hunched over. Walked like he had a bad back. An old war wound. Who the hell was gonna buy that? He was too young to have been in a war. Any of them. His pelvic muscles strained to allow his schlong a little more leeway. It was definitely getting harder. Hard as a brick bat. And no relief in sight.
The gorgeous tall woman with the black hair swept past the powdered milk before she realized she had missed it. Where the hell did he tell me to look, she said to herself.
Then, her eyes re-traced her steps and she saw the familiar blue and white boxes sitting there. She reached up effortlessly and grabbed one. She was tall. She didn't need high heels. But she loved wearing them. She loved the way they cramped her foot a tiny bit.
And she loved picking them out. Her foot was huge, but weren't so many feet of famous women? She had heard that royalty always had big feet. They didn't bother her. Her legs more than balanced the effect.
She loved her legs. And so did most of the men in this town judging from the looks she got whenever she drove in. It was just a hole in the road, but the grocery store here was handy. Handy enough. Besides, the ones in Chatham were much more expensive. They catered to all that tourist trade. Even if they were closer to her summer home, she still preferred coming here.
She pressed one silk-stockinged leg against the other as she nudged her cart forward. She loved the feel of those smooth, hairless thighs against themselves, especially when she was wearing nylons. These happened to be her favorite daytime stockings. Sheer, silky, very tight, slightly beige, with reinforced toes.
They came up to her garters and left just enough room at the top for her to feel her bare flesh whenever she sat or stood or walked. She liked the way her bare flesh felt against her slip. The way it brushed against it whenever she moved.
And she loved garter belts. She couldn't see why women ever chose panty hose. So undramatic. Dull. Drab. Garter belts came in all sizes and shapes and colors. The one she wore was red. Red with a lace pattern on the front panel. Real lace, not that tatty polyester stuff. There was just no substitute for the real thing.
And those garter straps. She loved to snap them when she was alone and thinking about something vexing. The ones she had on today were red, too. They were attached to the red garter and they paid it the perfect compliment. They had little black ribbons running down the length of them. And black rosettes just above the garter snap. That was classy. She loved classy underwear. Even her panties were top drawer.
Nothing but the best in lingerie. She was proud of that. No one would ever find her lying wounded in an intersection with dowdy under garments. No one would ever cart her off to a strange, impersonal hospital emergency room with tired, dated lingerie. She was gonna look her best, both outside and underneath, where only privileged ones could catch a view.
She had gotten those panties one day last month, with her girl friend. Her girlfriend, Tyne. She had expensive tastes in underwear, too. She had expensive tastes in everything.
They had gone into a little boutique that specialized in hard-to-find undies. It was raining outside and they both decided, after a cup of tea in a nearby tea room, that shopping for something intimate, something extravagant might lift their spirits a little.
"Let's go in here," Tyne said, urging her friend along beside her. Tyne was smaller than she, but pushier. Definitely the more dominant of the two women.
"Oh, Tyne," she said, resisting with what little power she had in these situations, "we've got a train to catch. Come on."
"We'll take the next one, Fuss Budget," she said, tossing her blonde curls back over her shoulder and setting her sights on the little shop.
"Well, I can't spend too much money today," she told her friend timidly, "I haven't got a lot of cash on me."
"So write a check," Tyne snapped, "Christ, Mandy, you give yourself more things to worry about."
The shorter of the two, the sandy-haired one pushed the door open. A little bell tinkled from up above and they stared into the confines of the tiny, empty shop.
A young girl appeared from behind a print curtain and gave them a warm smile.
"Can I help you?" she said, flashing a lovely set of white teeth inside a sensual, pink-tinged mouth.
Mandy took her in completely. She always looked at other women. She wanted to see what the competition looked like. It never hurt! And this girl was some competition. Hazel eyes, a flawless complexion, high, round tits and a tiny waist. She had short, curly streaked hair. She looked like she had spent the entire summer on the beach and this was the dead of winter.
"We wanna look at some bikini panties," Tyne said, talking to the girl the way she talked to most clerks, service station attendants, functionaries. Tyne had a quick, dismissive way about her, especially when talking to other people whose social status was beneath her own. She always talked down to them. As if they were indentured servants. "The most expensive line you've got."
"Tyyyyyyyne!" Mandy whined, pulling on her elbow, "I haven't got a lot of cash, I told you."
"Who says we're gonna buy anything? Besides, you can write a check if you need to."
"Sorry," the shop girl said, tilting her pretty head to one side, "but I couldn't help overhearing that. We don't take checks."
"See?" Mandy said, urgently.
"I'll have you know, young lady," Tyne began her discourse. The way she did with everybody who worked for a living. "I have cashed checks in stores all over this city and there has never been a problem."
"Again," the girl said, adding a spark of defiance to her words, "I am sorry to have to tell you, we don't take checks. Company policy."
"Company?" Tyne threw her blonde head back and laughed rudely. "You call a dent in the sidewalk like this a company?"
"Tyne," Mandy said, shoving her gently in the ribs, "let's just see what she's got here. I don't feel like making a scene now."
"That's cause you're a chicken," Tyne snarled, pushing her way toward the counter, "always have been. Timid little duck!"
Mandy cast her eyes down and took in the flower print on the carpet Tyne talked so rude to her. So beastly. And always in front of other people. Weren't they supposed to be friends. Double dating with her was an embarrassing impossible mess. She had fucked up more good times.
Yet there was something about her. Something compelling. She just couldn't stop herself from going out with her. From wanting to spend time with her. They shared a lot. And buying expensive under things was one of their chief mutual points of interest.
"What size?" the girl said, knowing full well what sizes both of them took. She had been waiting on women in this shop long enough to size up anybody.
The little one was about a four. The bigger one, the nicer of the two, was definitely a six. She had narrow hips, but high, round buttocks. A voluptuous body. The kind that looked good in tight, clingy things.
Their answers bore out her guesses. She pawed through the mahogany drawers until she found a few things.
"We like stuff that's hot, you know what I mean?" Tyne said in her usual surly manner. "Stuff to turn a man on."
"Oh," the girl said, seizing the chance to rub her face in it a little, "I never would have guessed. I think you want the LaFrance line. Hold on a minute."
She ran back into the small stockroom and took a large plastic display box off the shelf. This ought to shut them up good. The LaFrance line was the kind of thing rich men bought their mistresses. No self-respecting woman living in the suburbs would be caught dead in one of these little items. Ought to be just the tiling for Miss Mouthy out there.
She reappeared with a gracious smile decorating her face.
Tyne and Mandy watched with bated breath as she opened the box. Out popped the most revealing, sexy little bits of nylon and lace they could both have possibly imagined.
"Wow!" Tyne said, holding up a pair of black see-through panties. They were Brazilian cut, leaving almost the entire outer thigh bare, except for a teeny little band around the waist to connect the front and back panels. Entirely see-through, with a light rippling pattern in the nylon that was good for an hour or two of optical illusions.
"How would like to stick your tight little ass cheeks into one of these?" Mandy said, stretching a little patch of silk out between her hands in opposite directions.
She was holding a flimsy pair of peek-a-boo panties. Bikini cut, with one slight addition, or subtraction, depending on how you looked at it. There was an extra seam running lengthwise down the front panel, extending from front to back. And it opened. Like barn doors. The effect was tantalizing.
"Consider the possibilities," Tyne said, with a knowing wink. She loved discovering new ways to turn men on. And these panties certainly filled the bill.
"Can we try these on?" she asked, trying to sound demure. Different from the condescending way she felt toward the grubby little shop girl.
"Sure," the girl responded, "these are only samples. I hope there's something here in your size."
"Between the two of us," Mandy cut in, "they're ought to be."
The girl held the curtain apart and admitted the two women into the inner sanctum of the dressing room area. It was tiny, cramped, like the rest of the shop.
"Fraid there's only one dressing room and only one mirror," she said apologetically.
"That's okay," Mandy said, stepping inside. "We're used to changing together."
The girl smiled a wry, crooked little smile. She wondered if the women might be gay. She had seen a lot of lesbians come in here and pick out things for each other. A taste she didn't really understand, but what the hell. To each his own.
Possibly these were gay women. They were so different physically. And their personalities were different, too. The tall one looked like she could be the boss lezzie, but she was much sweeter, more amiable. The little blonde one was a tiger all right, but tinier, more frail looking. Well, these days, you could never tell.
She let Tyne inside and backed off a bit to allow them what little privacy there was going to be in there.
"Oooooh," she heard the little one say after a few moments. She must have had the things on. She modeled them for a male customer once and she knew the effect they had. Sultry, hot and sexy.
"Look at this, Mandy," came the voice again, "I wonder if she's got a bra to go with it."
"God, will you get a load of this?" the taller one said her deep, soft voice rising with excitement. "I could stop traffic in this thing."
She wondered who had on which pair. She wondered how they would look. Then, she remembered the calendar in the stock room. It was a little trick her boss had had installed. A calendar rested over a little slit in the wall between the stock room and the dressing room. It was so tiny as to be imperceptible, from the side of the dressing room. It was also slightly hidden by an overhanging mirror frame. But it was there. It would suffice.
She walked casually into the stock room and lifted the calendar off. A feeling of coy guilt rose up in her chest. What the hell, she figured, besides, it was fun. Fun to spy.
She edged the faded dated calendar over and pressed her eye to the hole. Light from the dressing room flooded her pupil, but she adjusted quickly.
The girls were having a grand old time all right. They had stripped down to their bras and garter belts, had even left their stockings on and they were trying on various pairs of the hot little La France line. Her personal favorite.
The blonde snooty one was standing facing the mirror where the shop girl was standing, separated only by a plank board wall. But that was enough. She had a phenomenal body, for as little as she was.
Giant, rounded boobs with thick protruding nipples jutting through the nylon of her half-bra. Her tits were pushed together like two cantaloupes in a crate, but her ass more than balanced the effect. It was lush and nicely-rounded, flaring out just enough to give her a nice, curvy behind.
Her waist was tiny and her legs were long and slender, turning into trim ankles. A very stacked little girl.
But her friend was the revelation. She was standing with her back to the hole and she could really only see her rear end and a little of her profile when she moved around, as she was doing now, sliding into a pair of pink dipper panties.
She was gorgeous, tall, striking, perfection in the buff. Her skin was golden, tawny, smooth and tight. Her legs were very muscular, as though she had been doing some kind of sports activity most of her adult life to keep them in shape.
"Give me a hand," she said to her blonde friend, "These things are so damned tight, I can't get my big feet into them."
The girl held onto her raven-haired friend as she stepped into the panties. They were the crotchless ones. The ones with the hole sewn into them. That should prove interesting, she thought idly.
Just then, the tall girl snapped the waistband around her middle and stood up. She looked over her shoulder at herself in the mirror, revealing a bra full of sculpted tit mounds. Her waist was small enough for someone to encircle with just their two hands.
"Get a load of that from the front," blondie said, hugging her hip with one hand and laying the side of her high heel against the carpet. "You look sensational. Okay so I'm jealous."
Slowly and seductively, the tall black-haired beauty turned around to looked into the long mirror. And the young shop girl got a rather shocking surprise when she did.
There, stuffed into the red crotchless panties, the tiny little see-through nylon double panels, was the biggest, thickest plumpest cock she had ever seen. In women's panties or otherwise. A mammoth set of dusky brown balls was nestled just behind it. The effect held her fast. She let out a little sound and covered her mouth automatically.
So this is what was going on right here under her nose. A man was trying on women's under panties. A man with a delectable big thick cock. A man who had nothing at all to be ashamed of, considering how beautiful his man pride was from the angle she had of it. Yet there it was, patted down inside a tuft of nylon! Female nylon! Why?
The question gnawed at her guts. What the hell was going on here? What was this man doing, trying on ladies' underwear. Dressing in shape-fitting, sexy see-through pieces of nylon and lace. Stuffing his cock into them. It was too much to believe.
And his friend knew all along that her girlfriend was a ... a boyfriend, it made no sense. She jerked back from the hole as she realized one of them had been staring right into it. The blonde one.
"Somebody's getting an eyeful."
The shop girl felt trapped, found out and about to be fed to the wolves. One hungry she-wolf and a big, hulking male. A male in sheep's clothing. What in the world were these two on about?
She tiptoed out of the stock room like a delinquent student and made her way to the dressing room with her head held down. How could she explain to these two that it had all been quite innocent, possibly a lot more innocent than whatever the two of them were up to.
"I don't much like spying," the blonde tiger purred harshly, "I think it shows incredibly bad manners and poor breeding. Now, what have you got to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry," the girl hedged, "I didn't think ... "
"No, you didn't," the little vixen snapped, "and now I'm afraid you're going to have to pay for your mistake."
"I'll let you have the panties for ... "
"You're not in a very good bargaining position," the sandy blonde snarled, "get in here."
She felt her heart hit her boots and stay there. She walked like a condemned prisoner to the scaffold. Then, the blonde grabbed her by her curly short hair. She ached up under her skirt with one deft stroke and hooked her panties around the waist with her fingers.
She jerked them down in one fell swoop. They sailed off her feet like feathers and landed on the carpeted floor.
Tyne's rage was growing by the second. Who did this little upstart think she was anyway? Spying! It was so low, so beneath contempt. And she would have to pay for it. Fortunately, she had a very good vehicle for exacting such payment. Her girlfriend. Her girlfriend, who also happened to double now and then as her adoring, obedient husband.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to fuck her, Mandy," she said," blithely pressing her palm against the terrified girl's bristling cunt "Tyne, stop it," the taller girl begged, "we can't just come in here ... "
"Are you forgetting something?" the blonde shouted, "you have no right to disobey me. You're in no position, especially right now. Look at yourself."
Many shot a quick glance in the mirror. It was a gorgeous honey of a figure all right. And it looked so adorable, snuggled into those lacy under things. That maroon bra with the gold threads that felt so good huddled against her chest. And that garter belt. The tiniest little stretchy thing with the softest satin insets around the places that hugged against her hips. Those long, dangling garter straps, now bridled up to the tops of her sheer beige nylons. And the way her high heels set off the whole effect.
Then there were the panties. She loved them already and she'd only had them on five minutes. That thing inside them did seem a mite out of place. It was a cock, there was no getting around it. A long, thick snaky thing that strained against the tiny confines of the nylon case, aching to be let out and played with.
"All right," Mandy said, grudgingly. They had been in situations like this before. They had begun by passing themselves off as girlfriends, even sisters, dining out, shopping together, even flirting with men and other women in bars and sometimes they had been found out. Or, Mandy had been found out.
Then Tyne would go into her act. She was such a bitch. She would shame Mandy into retaliating. Tell her that whoever had just discovered their ruse would talk, blab, spread the word around. And then, her masculinity was on the line. Could she still get it up? Wearing women's underwear and all?
Mandy's cock responded with a powerful tug. A powerful tug in the direction of the skylight.
"Let's get this over fast, huh?" Tyne barked as she lifted the helpless shop girl's skirt high, high up over her adorable rounded knees.
"You know I don't like to work fast, Hon," Mandy cooed, hoping to urge her out of her black mood. It seldom worked.
"Do as I say, Lady," Tyne bellowed, "or you know what's coming to you."
Mandy did know. So did Mandy's cock. It pranced around inside those panties as though it were already on parade, passing by the viewing stand for inspection. Embarrassing as it was, that cock had already started to peek out the hole in the crotch. It shoved the nylon tissue aside and worked itself out through there, as if it were curious about events in the room.
Tyne felt her breath grow heavy inside her lungs. She didn't like to be disobeyed by anybody, especially a fucking husband.
Angrily, she snatched a downy hand full of the terrified girl's pussy patch and mangled it in her fist.
"Please," the girl said her eyes shining terrified beams of light up at her, "please don't hurt me."
"I'm not going to hurt you, dear," Tyne said cruelly, "only he might." She pointed to her husband, the man with the swollen dick. The man who was taking his cock in his hand and pulling it out of the nylon net hole.
"Oh, God," the shop girl said, staring at the oncoming hulk of the man. The man dressed strangely in satin and lace. The man with the giant, throbbing prick beating in his hand, growing inches every time she blinked.
Tyne tossed the girl over her knee like a gunny sack and hoisted her skirt up over her bare, glistening butt mounds. She braced herself against the back of a chair and eased down into it. She had the little filly right where she wanted her. She pried her legs open with her hard, eager hands and looked into it.
Her ass sphincter was a mouth-watering pinkish brown. And her cunt, a moist quivering hole, perfect for fucking. And what a fucking she was going to get. Tyne knew from lots of first-hand experience. Mandy, Matthew, as she called him whenever his friends were in the room, could fuck like a gorilla on Spanish fly.
"Here, Buster," she said, rudely pursing up her lips and glaring at her husband. The tall, statuesque one in the satin bra and clinging silken panties. "Fuck the little imp."
Mandy advanced toward the outstretched girl. He peered down into her wet, palpitating little hole. He took a hold of his mighty tool and aimed it in the general direction.
Tyne reached one long hand out. The hand with the red gloss fingernail polish shining off of it. She did so reluctantly. She wished to hell she didn't feel so powerless to do so. But her man's cock held a magnetic appeal for her. She found it impossible to resist. There was just nothing in the world she loved so much as holding out her palm, feeling it tingle with anticipation. The anticipation of touching that dark, thick, wiggling fuck pole. That smooth, slippery handle that sprang out whenever she fluttered her fingers near it. So responsive, so alive, so charged up and ready.
She let her hand wrap around its thick circumference. She gave it a little squeeze. For luck? From arousal? It proved stronger than her hand. It didn't budge an inch in the thickness department. But it sprang out at least another inch when she touched it. It usually did.
She gripped the base, at least as far around the base as she could with one hand while she held the girl pinned to her knee with the other.
"No, no," the frightened child was crying. Too bad about her.
Tyne felt the fuck pole throb afresh as she squeezed her hand hard and felt the resistance force it back to its normal hold position. Amazing, just amazing! She slid her hand up, up toward the tip. That massive round cock knob she loved to diddle with.
Matthew dug his high heels into the carpet at the moment his wife touched his prick. She could do that to him. Those electric, pushy little fingers. They encircled him and displaced his throbbing veins all the way to the head of his cock. Then they stayed there a moment, just squeezing it. Then, they began the familiar in and out rhythm that made him go crazy with excitation.
"Oh, shit," he let out, still using his Mandy voice, that honey-dipped throaty moan that came out of him whenever this woman went to work on him. As she was doing now.
She let her whole palm cap the top of his dick and spidered her fingers out full. Then she brought them in to tap his rim. That usually made his toes curl up good and she knew it. It was making her cunt lips curl up, too, come to think about it.
She looked down onto the writhing, oozing cunt hanging on her knees. That poor helpless child. Was she ever gonna get a cunt full. She looked up at her husband's stiff prick with its massive bails dancing just behind it. That big oaf. Was he ever gonna get his rocks off.
She gripped his cock lengthwise and let her hand down again, feeling the spongy skin slide out of her way as she pressed down, down to the base. He had begun to build up a thick layer of glistening pre-cum on his head and she scooped her hand back-up in that direction to gather some up. Using it as lubricant, she slid her hand down again, squeezing her fingers together and then letting them fall apart as she did so.
Matthew was engulfed by the pressures assaulting his thick, long banging cock. He swayed in his high heels and had to brace himself against the back of his wife's chair.
"Pull her legs out further," he whispered sweetly down to her. "Just a little." His whole body was beginning to throb, from the buildup of pressure in his prick.
Tyne used both her hands for the business of spreading the girl's legs apart, like scissors. Her cunt gaped open and she saw the pink inner lips framed with black fringe of mossy hair pie. It looked fresh and inviting.
Matthew saw it, too. He gripped his man cock in his hand and took a step inside the girl's splayed out legs. He worked his cock down onto her fuzzy anal button. It tickled his balls. It fluttered over his aching, ramming cock stick. He pressed the head down hard so as to come up in between the girl's tight cunt lips.
He must have targeted it perfectly for he could feel he had made a direct hit. His cock knob had hit home. He thrust his hot hips hard against the resistant cunt slit. His man head slid in neatly, with little room to spare.
He brought his huge, muscular hands to the back of his hips and let them rest there. He could feel the hot nylon panties under his massive palms. They had begun to get steamy with sweat and arousal, the way his whole body had.
He glanced down to see a dark stain forming on his favorite maroon, satin bra. He was sweating like a Trojan. He moved into the girl closer and leaned over far enough to catch his wife's tongue as she stuck it out toward his thick, succulent mouth.
She loved tonguing him while he fucked someone else. It gave her a certain glow she couldn't explain.
"Mmmmm," she said, licking her lips like a contented cat, "more."
The shop girl was tossing and pitching in pain and fear. The pain of being dug into by the man's savage big weapon. It kept poking insistently further and further into her. That long, surly insurgent member. She was being raped, taken against her will. She kicked, but the man held her fast with his firm hands. She pitched, but the woman slammed her fists down so hard on her back, she lay still again, just to avoid her blows.
She felt like a worm on the end of a hook. And that hook was jutting higher, higher up into her gut. Up into the secret places where no one had gone before. She felt penetrated, invaded, violated. And as her guts swept down to kiss the tip of the invader, she knew she was loving every painful, frightening second of it.
"Stop, please," she begged, her words sounding more hollow every second. "I can't take much more."
It was true. She couldn't. She had never known such a buildup of ecstasy in her life. She heard the man kissing the woman. Heard their lips and tongues smacking and sucking just above her head. She turned a little to one side and stared up. Her cunt melted at the sight.
The two of them were kissing. The man had his wife's bra pulled down over her full moon tits and he was sucking one of her big red rubbery nipples. The sight of this contact going on so close gave her a rush. A rush that turned into a series of rushes. A series of total body spasms that jerked her into an eruption of climaxes. One after another after another after another ...
Matthew plugged the hot little gripping cunt with his whole cock. He backed his hips up again and again and launched an all out attack on the little girl. Her cunt was tight and pulsating, pushing, punishing, unpredictable.
"Fuck that hole," his wife said, twitching her lips and licking them with excitement. "Fuck that hot little cunt's hole."
She picked up his rhythm beautifully. Always had. He grabbed her tit tips in his hand and wrung them this way and that.
"Fuck that bitch."
"Plug that hole up."
"Fuck that little cunt hole."
"Fuck it."
"Fuck it harder."
"Stick your rod in there and ream her good."
"Fuck that little bitch cunt."
He felt his balls rear back and slam into the underside of his shaft. They let go their load. They emptied themselves into his cock pole and froze on the spot. His load made the long trip to the top of his cock and poured out the slit full force.
He shot a long, steaming white spurt of man come out the end of his prick. He felt it squirt. He held onto the nylon panties under his butt mounds and rammed his tongue down his wife's throat as he shot. The ecstasy had him deep, deep in its grip.
Tyne felt her cunt lips bang against each other and draw the wet, hot, heaving come stuff right out of her guts. She bounced up and down on the chair as she felt the strong vibration of her husband's eruption. The next thing she knew, the girl on her knees was sobbing.
"Oh, oh," she said, throwing her head around wildly, "I'm coming again. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
She had to suppress a little laugh. This girl who only a few moments ago had begged them both to stop was now begging for them not to. It was a funny turn around. A delicious reversal. But nothing surprised her anymore. It had, after all, happened before. That's what made life with Matthew and with Mandy so much fun.
"Keep them," the girl said, ten minutes later as she shoved the pairs of silken panties across the counter to them. "No charge at all."
Mandy adjusted her blouse and tucked it carefully back into her skin tight satin skirt. It had been entertaining, if a little scary in the beginning. And now everybody seemed happy. And she was gonna get a great pair of panties. For free.
Tyne grinned and slipped her arm into Mandy's. She blew the shop girl a kiss and headed toward the door with her friend in tow.
The two of them slipped quietly out into the street arm in arm. Arm in arm into the still rain-soaked street.
Mandy patted her backside and moved her shopping cart ahead one space. Someone had brushed against her back there. She turned around slowly, seductively to see who it was.
That stock boy! That lithe, lean honey blonde kid with the big green eyes. The hungry green eyes.
"Can I help you carry that stuff out to the car, Lady?" he said, eagerness emblazoned all over his face.
"Sure," Mandy purred like a bitch cat in heat. "Once I get it rung up."
Just then a hairy hand reached for her box of soda crackers. "Meet me at the door," she said, giving her hips a suggestive little wiggle. Just a subtle little wiggle. She didn't want anyone in the place thinking she was a tart. God forbid!
Minutes later, she plopped the two huge, heavily-laden bags of groceries into the boy's obliging hands. She followed him demurely out to where her compact car sat soaking in the sun.
Jeff hoisted the groceries high up and let the bulky bags rest on his out-thrust hip. He couldn't resist showing off his prowess at bag toting to this luscious woman. This come queen sauntering slowly out into the parking lot with him.
"Over here," the raven-haired lovely said, pointing to a white sports car.
He followed her over willingly. He would have followed her out of the lot and down to the ocean. Probably right out into the water.
He kept his eyes peeled on her as she leaned her tall frame over and slipped her hand inside the metal door handle. He watched her hips move from side to side as she jerked it open. And he let his mouth drop slack open as he saw a diminutive, stacked blonde woman plant one shapely tanned leg on the hot pavement.
She leaned her tough, agile little body out toward the black-haired girl as she spoke.
"What the hell took you so long?"